


Season of the Witch

by eideann



Series: Fake Gay Dean [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Extreme Bar Tending, Fake Gay Dean, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Don't End in Blood, Family Feels, Food, Gay Bashing, Gay Waiters, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Mama Ellen, Music, Night Club Scene, Serial Killers, Sexual Violence, Stalked by an Angel, Stalking, Swine Flu, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-03 17:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 52
Words: 151,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11537346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eideann/pseuds/eideann
Summary: or Fake Gay DeanIt’s the freakin’ Apocalypse.  Lucifer is hunting for the Winchesters, one of whom he wants to kill and the other of whom he wants to wear.  The clock is ticking, and the Colt needs to be found as soon as possible.  And Sam picks this moment to come down with the swine flu.Leaving Sam with Bobby, Dean heads off with Castiel to follow a lead on the Colt.  When the lead fails to pan out, he finds a hunt in Salt Lake and stays there, waiting for Sam to join him once he recovers.Gay men are dying, and Dean sets himself up as bait. Danger inevitably follows. Will they stop the bad guy? Will they be able to keep Dean safe?------For those of you who don’t remember, the 2009 flu season was the terror-filled season of the swine flu.  This story came out of the random discussion question between me and my beta/roommate, “What if one of the boys got the swine flu during the Apocalypse?”Please note, all pairings have been listed.  Do not spend this story hoping for actual Destiel.  Not opposed to the pairing, but it doesn’t fit into this story.Set between The Real Ghostbusters (S5E09) and Abandon All Hope (S5E10).





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the alternate title, Fake Gay Dean is what my beta/roommate and I called the story most of the time I was writing it, and we couldn’t lose it completely when we came up with the “real” name of the story. I saved the file as FGD because it needed to be safe as a file name in my beta/roommate’s middle school classroom where she teaches. This led to frequent references to FGD rather than saying it all out. Thus, when the sequel came along (not complete in the slightest), it became known as FGD: LA, along the lines of NCIS: LA. It’s a crossover with a crime show set in Los Angeles – not NCIS: LA. Feel free to guess in the comments. If someone gets it right, I'll put it in the notes at the end of the next chapter.

Alternate title: _Fake Gay Dean  
_

Chapter 1

Sam had been driving all day, and he was getting tired. From Bobby's place in South Dakota to Salt Lake City was about thirteen hours, and he was still recovering from the swine flu. It was nuts. Here they were, fighting the Apocalypse, and he was taken out of the game by a stupid virus. It had hit him hard, fever, nausea, coughing, the whole nine yards. They'd been in Illinois, so Dean had pulled an all-nighter – in a surgical mask – to get to Bobby's, and between them, Bobby and Dean had both babied him and avoided him till he was over the worst of it.

Then Cas had shown up with a lead on the Colt, and since Sam was on the road to recovery, he'd told Dean to go with Cas. The lead hadn't panned out, but Dean had run across a hunt on his way back and told Sam to join him when he was feeling better. That had been almost three weeks ago. Sam hadn't heard a word since. He would have come earlier, but Bobby wouldn't let him out of the house until today.

He pulled up outside the club Dean had told him to meet him at. Woody's. There were cars parked all up and down the streets around the place, and no parking in any lots nearby. Sam finally found a spot to squeeze the tiny car that he'd borrowed from Bobby into. It was at least a half a mile walk back to the club. There was a line at the door, and Sam joined it, fuming slightly. They could have met at a diner, or at whatever motel room Dean was staying at, but, no, Dean wanted him to meet him at a club.

"Sam Winchester?" called the guy who was checking IDs. Sam looked up, startled, to find the guy beckoning to him. When he walked up, the guy said, "You Sam Winchester?"

Sam nodded. "That's me."

The guy looked him up and down, then shrugged. "Go on in," he said.

Loud complaints issued from the guys who were first in line, but the bouncer silenced them with the statement, "Guest of the management." Sam glanced at the guys who were glaring at him and realized something suddenly. They were all guys.

Then he was inside, or rather inside the lobby. He checked his coat with a young man near the door, pocketed his stub, and then went into the club itself.

The room was filled with smoke and warring colognes, and he saw guys at tables together, guys sitting at the bar, clearly together, and guys dancing on the floor – together. Three feet from the entrance, a waiter was bent over a table, his ass sticking up in the air, cleaning up a spill between two patrons, and Sam could have sworn he was hitting on them both by the simple act. Both the customers were sure laughing and blushing like he was. Kind of the way Bela had distracted him with the coffee the first time they met. Maybe he was a pickpocket. Whatever, it wasn't Sam's business.

He stared around himself, stunned. Dean had told him to meet him at a gay bar? That was totally not like Dean, and given how often they were mistaken for a couple, it seemed unwise as well. He scanned the dimly lit place, looking for Dean, and noticed that the waiters were all dressed in a sort of half-piratical get up. They all wore tight black jeans, little red aprons that only covered the pelvic area, and white flowing shirts that were open down to the navel, just about. Totally campy, but the patrons seemed to appreciate the look. He wasn't spotting Dean, though. Then the waiter right in front of him stood up, and Sam nearly dropped his teeth at the sight of his brother.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed. "You made it. I was afraid I'd wind up waiting for you out on the street."

"In that?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dean, it's snowing outside."

"For real?" Dean asked, his eyes going wide.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Not actually snowing, but there's snow on the ground. Dude, what are you doing?"

Another waiter walked up and gave Sam a critical look. "Is this the ex you've been getting calls from?"

"What?" Dean asked, then he shook himself. "No, Martin, no, this is my brother, Sammy."

"Sam," Sam corrected before this Martin guy could get the wrong idea. "Dean, I don't understand. What's –"

"Hey, Ted?" Dean called over the crowd noise, and the one guy in a pirate hat turned around. "I'm gonna take a break," he said, gesturing towards Sam. Ted nodded and gave Dean a sort of wave towards the back of the bar, and Dean grabbed Sam by the arm. "Come on, Sammy."

Sam allowed himself to be dragged past the bar, where he saw another guy in a pirate hat. This one was also sporting the low-cut shirt and jeans, and he had a stuffed parrot attached to his shoulder. Dean dragged him back through the miniscule kitchen and into a tiny room that clearly served as a break room. It reeked of cigarette smoke and body odor, and there were coffee cans with sand and ash in them on the table and in the corners.

"Dean, what's going on here?" Sam asked. "Why are you working at a gay bar, and who was Martin talking about?"

Dean grinned at him. "Don't I look amazing?" he asked, striking a provocative pose that made Sam's eyes bug out. "Dude, I am one totally hot fake gay guy. I've gotten seven numbers just in the past hour."

Recovering his wits, Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's typical self-aggrandizement. "Okay, apart from the ego boost, why are you working at a gay bar?"

Dean shrugged unrepentantly. "Well, for one thing, gay guys are amazing tippers. Forget credit card fraud, if I'd known this ten years ago, we could have been rolling in dough. Hell, if I'd started waiting tables at a place like this when I was sixteen, we could have retired."

"Except we don't do what we do for money, Dean," Sam said, totally exasperated. "Why are you here?"

"Because the job is here." Dean gestured around himself. "Three of this place's patrons have been found dead in the last year, and they died bloody."

"What do the cops think?"

"They don't know what to think. No evidence was found on the bodies, no leads, they've written it off as gay bashing and upped the number of patrols on this beat. But here's the thing, seven other guys have disappeared in the last four years, from this club and from a couple of others nearby, and that's just the ones who were reported missing."

"You think there are others?" Sam asked.

"I'm sure there are," Dean replied. "Hell, this is a major watering place. If you're driving cross country on Interstate 80, you stop in Salt Lake. Besides, you know the club scene. Lots of guys are around today and gone tomorrow, and no one wonders why. I mean, if every time we up and moved, someone reported us missing, we'd be fending off well meaning cops all over the place."

Sam shrugged. "Okay, that's a point, but why do you think this is a job for us?"

"I think it's a shapeshifter," Dean replied, and Sam blinked at him. "Okay, get this, all ten of the guys I've confirmed as missing or dead were seen with different guys, but the MO is always the same. It's your standard pick up, the vic leaves with the guy and is never seen again."

Sam had to admit that ten guys over four years was pushing coincidence a little far. "And the cops aren't calling it a serial case?"

"I haven't heard that they are," Dean said. "Maybe, I don't know. It's not being reported in the papers that way, that's for sure."

"How'd you come across it?" Sam asked. This wasn't a stumbled on case, this one required serious research to uncover.

"Ellen put me onto it. She and Jo were looking into it, but they realized pretty quick that two chicks nosing around after it were gonna be noticed, but a couple of guys . . . that's a different story."

Sam grimaced. "Especially if one of them is a gossipy, gay waiter?"

"Hey, Sammy, everyone likes to flirt with a cute waiter, am I wrong?"

"I don't."

"You are unnaturally serious, Sammy," Dean said. "There's something wrong with you, some kind of hormone deficiency, I swear."

"Okay, fine. So, where's the motel?"

"Actually, I've got a loft."

"A loft?" Sam repeated, astonished. "You've got an apartment?"

Dean shrugged. "It's furnished in early modern crap, but it's a place to hang my hat."

"Why did you get an apartment?"

"I was staying at the motel that the last of the dead guys was found in. When Jes found out, he about freaked and told me he'd find me someplace."

"Jes?" Sam asked.

"His name's really Jesus, but he doesn't like it when people pronounce his name wrong. He's one of the bouncers," Dean replied. "Big guy, bigger than you, even. Kind of a mother hen, though."

Sam shook his head, absolutely floored by this situation. "You could have warned me," he said.

"I haven't talked to you, Sammy," Dean said. "I thought you were still sick. I didn't even know you were better till Bobby told me you'd headed out this morning. That's why I told Ricky to let you in, otherwise you would have had to wait your turn, pass the looks test – and you're really not dressed for this place, I gotta tell you – and paid the cover charge."

Sam looked down at his jeans and checked shirt and shrugged. "I don't usually drive a thousand miles in clubbing clothes, Dean."

"Dude, you don't own any clubbing clothes," Dean retorted. Sam shrugged, acknowledging the truth of that statement. "And it's not a thousand miles. Nine hundred, tops."

"Whatever, what's the address of your 'loft' so I can go get some sleep? I'm exhausted."

"From driving?" Sam just glowered at him. Dean's brows knit. "Actually, you do look kind of wiped. I bet I could get Ted to give me the rest of the night off."

"Dean that's really not necessary." Sam let the words trail off even though Dean wasn't even in the room for most of them. Evidently Sam's being better hadn't cured Dean of his mother henning, and now that Bobby wasn't doing it for him, he was going to take care of his little brother. Sam rubbed his eyes with his hand. He just wanted to find a flat, reasonably soft surface and sleep, but now he was bound to be plied with chicken soup and hot tea and whatever the hell else Dean thought was good for a sick baby brother. Half the reason he'd sent Dean off with Cas was to get him to go away and leave him alone.

Another waiter walked in, lighting up as he did so. "Hey, you're Little D's brother, aren't you?"

"Little D?" Sam repeated, blinking.

The waiter nodded. "Yeah. I'm Bruce, and you're Sammy, right?"

"Sam," Sam replied. "Nice to meet you, Bruce."

An awkward silence followed the introduction, and Sam wondered what was keeping Dean. As if in answer to prayer, the door opened and Dean came in. "Ted's going for it," he announced, and he walked over to a locker, pulling out a thick jacket and putting it on. "Come on, Sammy."

"My coat's checked in the lobby," Sam said. "I didn't see the car."

"It's around back. I'll meet you in front."

"I parked down a few blocks –"

"We'll pick it up tomorrow, Sammy. It's Saturday, so it won't matter if the meter's fed. Don't go out for a couple of minutes, okay? It'll take me a little bit to get around the block." With that, Dean left the room.

Bruce glanced over at Sam. "Are you sure he's your brother?" he asked. "My brothers were never that nice to me."

Sam shrugged. "I had the swine flu," he said. "He freaked."

Bruce's eyes widened. "Oh," he said in a tone of understanding. "I'm glad you're better," he added. "You are better, right?"

"Totally," Sam said. He gave Bruce an ironic wave and headed back out through the club. He got his coat and went outside. The Impala wasn't out there yet, but he walked out and stood on the sidewalk anyway. A moment later, Dean pulled up and Sam squeezed between two cars that had been parked far too close together and climbed in.

"I told you to wait a few minutes before you came out," Dean said remonstratively.

"Dean, if you don't stop it, I will shoot you," Sam growled. "I'm just tired."

"Bobby should have never let you out the door," Dean said. "I'm going to call him and –"

"I felt fine this morning, Dean," Sam protested. "I've been driving for more than ten hours, and maybe it's taken a bit of a toll, but it's not Bobby's fault."

"You drove for ten hours straight?" Dean exclaimed. "Sammy, you can't do that!"

"We do that all the time, Dean," Sam retorted.

"You're recovering from the swine flu, Sammy. It's not the same. Besides, I do the driving. You sleep."

"Sometimes I drive and you sleep."

"You don't have the stamina right now," Dean said soberly. "You're going straight to bed when we get home."

"Home?"

"The apartment," Dean said. "I've got to call it something."

"How long are we staying for?"

"Till the job's done, Sammy, and that could take a while."

"What about the Apocalypse?"

"It's not going anywhere," Dean said. "And until we have the Colt, going after Lucifer is just going to get us both really dead." Sam didn't argue because that seemed fairly self evident. "Look in the ashtray. There's a spare key in there. I'm going to let you off out front, because there's no way I'll get a close parking spot."

"Dean, I can walk a –"

"Sammy!" Dean said warningly, and Sam rolled his eyes, shutting up. He leaned his head back on his neck, stretching and squeezing his eyes shut. He opened his eyes and glanced incuriously around. They pulled onto a street with another club on it and Sam grimaced. Dean pulled to a stop in front of the entrance, and Sam looked over at him. "Here we –"

"Dean, it's another club!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean rolled his eyes. "See that door to the left of the club entrance?" he asked, and Sam nodded. "That's it."

"You live above a nightclub?"

"Well, I work at one, so I'm usually out during the hours of operation," Dean pointed out. Sam shook his head. "Get out, Sammy. Go inside and wait for me. Second floor."

Sam gave him a dark look, but he got out of the car. Glancing at the still busy line for the club, whose name appeared to be LOL, he opened the door to the left. There were stairs immediately on the other side of it, and he wearily climbed them, actually kind of glad that Dean wasn't following him and commenting on his slow speed.

The stairs continued up another level, but Dean had said the second floor, so Sam turned to the door on the landing and tried the key. It fit, so he opened the door and went inside. Early modern crap was a mild description. The couch looked like it had seen better days, and the TV had a rotary knob. He realized abruptly that he didn't have his bag, and he walked over to slump onto the sofa. Closing his eyes proved to be a mistake because the next thing he knew, Dean was squatting in front of him.

"When'd you get here?" Sam asked him, blinking.

"Dude, you didn't even close the door all the way," Dean said anxiously. "I'm putting you to bed."

"I'm fine here, Dean," Sam muttered, because the effort of getting up sounded just too huge.

Dean wouldn't be denied. Sam's brother levered him up off the couch and walked him up a short flight of three steps to a bed. Sam let Dean drag his coat off and undo his pants, and then he flopped flat on the bed and fell asleep again.

* * *

Dean pulled Sam's boots off him and finished getting his pants off before covering his brother up and tucking him in. It reminded him of years long past when his father would drop them at a motel after a long drive, and Dean would have to get his little brother undressed and put him to bed while he lay unresponsive and asleep. That being the case, it pulled up a lot of those long sleeping protective instincts that drove Sammy nuts.

He went over to the kitchenette and picked up the phone, going to the couch and kicking his boots off while he called Bobby. Three rings, then a familiar voice. "Singer Salvage."

"What the hell were you thinking, sending Sam out in this state?" Dean demanded in a low voice.

"What state?" Bobby asked. "He was fine this morning, raring to go, actually."

"I dropped him in front of the building so I could go park the car, and when I got inside, he'd left the door unlatched and fallen asleep on the sofa without even taking his coat off."

"Is he coughing?"

"No."

"Did he sound congested?"

"No."

"He throw up or anything like that?"

"No!" Dean shook his head. "Bobby, he shouldn't be this tired after a little drive."

"No, he shouldn't, but he's going to be a little low on stamina for a while, Dean. I couldn't keep him here any longer, though," he said over Dean's protest. "Not without locking him in."

"Damn it, Bobby!"

"Don't yell at me, boy."

Dean sighed. "Sorry. I just . . ."

"I know," Bobby said. "He'll be fine, Dean. Just give him a little time to recover his endurance. I hoped he'd have the sense to stop somewhere along the way."

"Sense, Bobby? This is Sam we're talking about. There is no sense."

"Yeah, right," Bobby said. "Is there anything else? It's past midnight."

Dean scowled. "No, I guess not."

"How's the hunt going?"

"Slow. I haven't found any signs of a shifter in any of the sewers yet."

"This one may be wise to that method of locating them," Bobby replied. "And that one in Pennsylvania had a house, if you'll recall."

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "That one was whole bucketloads of crazy."

"Well, some guy killing off gay guys at a steady rate ain't exactly stable."

"Not exactly," Dean replied. "Well, I'll keep you up to date. Good night, Bobby."

"Good night, Dean."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam woke up slowly, feeling very warm. There was a body cuddled up close behind him, and he turned his head, puzzled. Dean was in bed with him, which was a little weird. They'd shared occasionally in the past, but not much for a long time.

He shifted out of Dean's arms and sat up, stretching. The apartment was freezing, so he got up and looked around for a thermostat. He still didn't have his bag, so he pulled his jeans on to help warm him up a little. When he didn't find a thermostat, he turned the oven on instead and propped it open a few inches on the hinge.

With that done, he looked around and began to feel a little uncomfortable. Dean had to have been living in this place for a while, because there were evidences of him all over. And not just mess, though that was inevitable in any place that Dean lived in for long. Sam started picking up the take out containers and stuffing them into an already half-full garbage bag as he took in the signs of Dean's current life.

Someone, at some point in the distant past, had installed corkboard tiles on the wall just off the kitchen area. Like most lofts, there were no clearly defined rooms, so it was hard to say 'the dining room' or 'the living room,' but Dean was obviously using this as the dining area. There was a scarred old table with a few mismatched chairs around it, and there were pictures pinned to the corkboard. Some of them were familiar, pictures of him and Dean, pictures from their childhood. There was one of the three of them, Dad, Dean and him, back when Sam was only about ten. There was even a picture of Bobby with his old hound, Rumsfeld. Some of them were entirely new to Sam. Pictures of Dean with Martin, and with a big guy Sam guessed must be Jes. There was also a picture of a whole crew of waiters from the bar, Dean clowning down in front of the group.

It was weird, seeing this piece of Dean's life that he hadn't witnessed firsthand. There was so little of that, really. If you ignored the four months Dean had been in Hell, which hadn't left any visible marks in this world anyway, they hadn't spent more than two months apart at a stretch since Dean had picked him up from college. Admittedly, those two months had been recent, but Dean hadn't done anything like this during them, at least not that Sam had seen or heard about.

Sam opened a cupboard at random and stared at the plastic bag full of uncooked spaghetti and the jar of Ragu. Apparently, Dean was cooking, too. He hadn't done that in years so far as Sam knew.

The oven door's hinge gave way all of a sudden, and it fell open with a crash. Sam whirled in a crouch even though he knew what the noise had been, and he saw Dean roll out of bed and land on his feet, a knife in his hand.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam called. "The oven door just fell open."

Dean stood up straight and tucked the knife back under the pillow. "Oh, okay. How you feeling this morning?"

"Fine, Dean. I was just tired."

Dean gave him a suspicious look, but he didn't say anything else. Sam started looking through the cupboards for anything breakfast-like.

"What are you doing?"

"You got any cereal or donuts or anything?"

"How long do donuts last around me, Sammy? Seriously?" Dean asked, and Sam gave him a dour look. "I ran out of eggs yesterday, but I could go pick something up at the store."

"Eggs?" Sam exclaimed. "You've been fixing yourself eggs?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "It's kind of nice not eating something that's been wrapped in paper for hours, then nuked till it pops."

"I guess." Sam closed the cupboard. "We could go out."

"I'll just run down to the store and if you give me the keys, I can pick up your crap from whatever car you drove over here."

Sam closed his eyes. "Dean, I can –"

"Yeah, you can, but you're not going to, okay?" As he spoke, Dean was getting dressed. He made a pit stop in the bathroom, and Sam grabbed his shoes and went to sit on the sofa. It embraced him and drew him deep into its cushions. No wonder he'd fallen asleep so quickly last night. He pulled his left shoe on and started lacing it up.

"Dean? Your sofa's a man-eater."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, coming out of the bathroom. He saw Sam putting his shoes on and shook his head. "Don't bother, Sammy, you're not coming with me. Give me the keys."

"What if I say no?"

"Then I'll break into it."

"You won't recognize it," Sam countered.

"It's either that Festiva or the minivan that Bobby's lackey was working on," Dean said, and Sam let out an irritated sigh.

"The Festiva," he said. "Tiffany said she didn't trust the breaks on the minivan. Frankly, I think she just got a kick out of watching me fold myself up into the roller skate."

Dean laughed. "Where'd you park?"

"About five blocks north of your club," Sam said. "I didn't notice any street signs."

"I'll find it," Dean said. "Not too many Festivas on the roads these days. Back in a flash."

Sam thumped his head against the back of the couch and groaned. He'd finally gotten Dean to agree to stop treating him like a kid. Then he'd gone and gotten sick, and now Dean was treating him like a kid again.

He looked around for the remote and realized suddenly that there wasn't one. There was one for the cable, but not for the TV. They were going to have to get a better TV if they were staying here for any length of time. He grimaced. But then what would they do with it when they left? That was the good thing about living in motels. All the amenities of home – or at least most of them – without the need to store any of it.

Pulling the power knob of the TV out, he sat back and started flipping channels. After a while, he realized that he'd only put one shoe on, so he took it off again and stretched out on the sofa, watching _Law & Order_. The clock on the wall said it was just past nine in the morning. Evidently his recovery from the damned flu was going to take a little longer than he'd thought.

* * *

Dean swung by the Festiva and found it all by its lonesome on the Saturday morning streets. He opened up the hatch and pulled out Sam's duffle. There didn't seem to be anything else in the car, so he tossed it into the passenger seat and drove to the nearest market. There he picked up some fruit, a box of Sam's favorite nutty-flaky cereal and a gallon of milk, a twelve pack of beer and some eggs, bacon and ground beef. That would hold them for a day or two, surely.

With a grocery bag in one hand and the duffle in the other, he bounded up the steps back to the loft and found Sam at the table, his computer open, going through Dean's handwritten notes on the case. "Handy that there's free WiFi here," Sam remarked. "How'd you manage that?"

"The club below us turns into a coffee house during the day time on the weekdays, and they offer free internet access as part of the gimmick. I mean, that's why it's called LOL."

Sam blinked at him and nodded. "Cool. So, your research is good, we just need to figure out what the next step is."

"I've been searching the sewers, and I haven't found a thing. I haven't been able to get access to the video in the clubs, and the video from those nights is long gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I gave Ellen an ID that got her access to the police files," Dean said. "We both agreed that Jo wouldn't pass, and did that ever piss her off. Anyway, she checked, and the bodies were found after the videos were erased, so there's no record at all of those nights. I've been taking pictures of patrons all over the place, trying to get a view that might include the camera flare, but so far nothing doing."

"What, do you take people's e-mail addresses and offer to mail them the photos?"

Dean blinked at him. "No, I'm just known for taking photos."

"Dean, you don't even have a camera."

"Oh, but I do," Dean said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slim Canon digital camera. "I keep it in the pocket of my apron and I snap pics all the time. Then I take them down the block to a guy who prints them for me."

"You can look at them on your computer, Dean," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, but if you're known for taking pictures, you've got to have pictures to show people," Dean said. "Besides, I kind of like having them."

Sam nodded and glanced at the corkboard wall. "I noticed."

Dean gave him a sheepish grin. "I guess you haven't been to the bathroom yet."

Sam shrugged. "In the middle of the night, I think. I didn't turn on the light."

"Go look," Dean said, and Sam got up. Dean started putting his groceries away, and checked to make sure he had the bread he remembered having. "Eggs or cereal?"

"Dean, you have lost your marbles!" Sam exclaimed as he emerged from the bathroom.

Dean laughed. "The guys call it my wall of hotties," he said. "I just keep it so I know which guys I've already checked out. The ones above the mirror are my top suspects so far."

Sam shook his head. "Okay. Well, is that all you're doing? Taking pictures of suspects?"

"And chatting people up," Dean replied. "Trying to get a feel for who the guys steer clear of. Some people get sort of a vibe, you know, that warns them off the bad guy."

"Vibe?" Sam repeated. "Dean, it's going to take forever this way."

"I know," Dean said. "That's why I've settled in for the long haul. But Ellen and Jo checked out all the angles they could and found bupkis, and I've walked miles of sewer lines without any results. We've done the quick fixes, and they haven't gotten us anywhere."

"So what do you want me to do?" Sam asked.

"I talked to Ted, told him you were coming and that you might be looking for a job."

"I am not waiting tables," Sam said emphatically.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Not as a waiter, dude, as a bartender. I know you did that a little in college to help pay tuition, and Ted needs a fill in man for a guy who's going on maternity leave."

"Maternity leave?" Sam repeated.

"Well, that's what they're all calling it. Jeff and his boyfriend are adopting a baby, and they need some time off to settle her in, I guess."

"Maternity leave," Sam said again.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "When did you become such a dork?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, I don't know. I just . . . I guess I could tend bar and keep an eye out for suspicious pick ups."

"There you go, Sammy."

"But I am not wearing a stuffed parrot on my shoulder."

Dean snorted. "You might want to get a spray tan on your chest, though," he said with a smirk. "Or else you'll blind people."

* * *

Sam couldn't help it, he went over all the data he could find on the internet. He trusted Dean, and he knew Ellen was thorough, but he also knew that he was better on the web than either of them. Dean fixed them eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast, and Sam found that bewildering. His brother hadn't cooked for them in years, and when he had, it had usually been about the level of Spaghetti-o's.

"So you find anything the rest of us missed?" Dean asked after Sam had been searching for a while.

"No," Sam said.

"It's a good thing I knew you love to do the research thing, or I might be offended by your lack of faith in my ability to do the job." Sam looked up, ready to protest that it wasn't that at all, but Dean was grinning at him. "I promised to help Jeff put together his baby's new crib, so I'm heading out for a while. You stick it out here, okay? It's cold out there, and I don't want you catching some secondary bug."

Sam opened his mouth to object, but then he noticed the look in Dean's eyes. It would be pointless to say anything right now. If he decided that he needed to go out, he'd just have to do it and face Dean's wrath later. "Right, Dean. Okay."

Dean nodded once and, pulling his coat on, went out the front door. Sam returned to the research. As he looked into missing persons reports that centered on Salt Lake, he began to feel a strange sense of familiarity. He pulled up his own journal on the computer and started a search for Salt Lake, then returned to the web. After a few minutes, he switched back into his journal and glanced through the entries that had come up in his search and found what he was looking for.

Maybe a week before he'd been shanghaied to Cold Oak by Azazel, Salt Lake had come up on his radar because of a high number of missing persons reports that all fit a certain profile. Not all the reports were filed in Salt Lake, and many of them were like the ones that had led Dad to small town pagan sacrifice in (state where the scarecrow was), inconclusive as to location, but in each case the person had definitely traveled through Salt Lake and not turned up at his destination. According to his journal entry for May 7, 2007, he'd been planning on doing a little more research before mentioning it to Dean. For all he knew he had, and they'd both lost track in the furor over the gate to Hell opening, Azazel dying and Sam finding out about Dean's deal. He had a feeling that it was all his lapse, though. Dean had been so desperate to derail Sam from soul-saving duty during the following weeks that if he'd known about this case, he would have mentioned it for sure.

Sam pulled up the data he'd gathered in 2007 and compared it to Dean's and found them very congruent, though Dean's was more recent, of course. He located another possible body from 2004, but it didn't add anything significant to their information.

Sitting back, he sighed. He really didn't want to tell Dean about this. It was just another example of how irresponsible Sam had been over the past two years. That he could have found something like this, with evidence of multiple vanished people, likely deaths, and have just mislaid it because of Dean's deal or his need to kill Lilith . . . it didn't speak well for him. Dean definitely wouldn't think so. He'd purse his lips and give Sam that look that reminded him of all the wrongs he'd committed. The look that made Sam want to burst into defensive babbling about how he hadn't meant to start the Apocalypse. Then he'd feel guilty, and guilt so often stirred anger in him. It was easier – pleasanter – to feel anger than to feel guilt. It was an impulse he had to learn to control.

His stomach growled, making him look up at the clock. It was just past two, and Sam hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. He stood up to go look in the kitchen, but at that moment, he heard a knocking on the door.

He went over to answer it, not sure who he'd find. He really hoped Dean was up to date on the rent, because he didn't feel up to dealing with an irate landlord.

No peephole, that might make it too easy to duck the landlord. He opened the door cautiously and was bowled over by the amazingly delicious smell that wafted in. Martin stood outside the door dressed in blue jeans and a pink sweater, and he was carrying a crock pot. "Hey, Sammy," he said. "Can I come in?"

Sam stepped back, a little startled by the visitor. Martin came in and went straight to the kitchen, as if he'd been here a dozen times before. "I knew that you were getting over being sick and that your brother isn't much of a cook, so I had Paulie make up a stew to keep the two of you fed for a couple of days."

"Thanks," Sam said, feeling a little stunned. "Dean's out – visiting Jeff, I think he said."

"Oh, yes, baby detail," Martin said before Sam had even finished speaking. "The shower is on Thursday, over at the club, between four and six. You want to go?"

"Let's see how I'm feeling," Sam said, temporizing till his brain caught up with the rapid-fire way Martin talked.

"Right, right," Martin replied. "So, which side of the fence do you play on, big boy? Not asking for me, of course, I've got Paulie, but I've got a couple of friends who like mountain climbing." His eyes seemed to take in all of Sam's body as he spoke, and Sam shifted uneasily.

"I'm straight," he said, blinking. He heard the door open, and hoped it was Dean, here to rescue him. Or maybe someone demanding rent money wouldn't be so bad right now.

Martin looked him over again. "Well, I hope it's not wasted," he said.

"Oh, it is," Dean said from the doorway, and Sam gave him an outraged glare. "I've been trying to fix him up with pretty girls for years."

"Maybe he's just mistaken," Martin suggested, giving Sam a coy look.

"No, I know what I like," Sam said firmly. Martin was still eyeing him curiously.

"Is that Paul's cooking I smell?" Dean asked, finally taking Sam off the hook.

Martin turned around and walked back into the kitchen. "I brought it over in a crock pot. It should be good for a couple of days, I'd say." He lifted the cover off the top, letting the delectable odor fill the room. Sam's stomach rumbled suddenly, and Martin laughed. "Well, I have to go pick up some of the party favors for the shower. See you boys later!" With that he left the apartment, leaving the place feeling a bit emptier now that his giant personality was gone.

"Paul's cooking is the best, man!" Dean announced. He walked over, pulled a paper bowl out of a cupboard and started ladling up stew. "You want some?"

"Sure," Sam said. "Do you have visitors often?"

"Martin is a busybody," Dean said with a grin. He handed Sam a nearly overflowing bowl of stew that he had to hold with both hands and carefully place on the table. Paper bowls weren't really up to the rigors of stew. He turned to grab a fork, but Dean was already tossing him a plastic one. He started ladling up another bowl. "He likes to make sure everyone's properly taken care of, and he came over at dinner time one night when Paul was working and got a taste of my cooking."

That explained how Martin knew about Dean's cooking. Sam took a taste of the stew, and it more than lived up to its odor. "This is good," he said around a mouthful.

"I know," Dean replied, sitting down. "Paul works at some restaurant or other, and I guess he loves to cook."

They ate in relative silence for the next few minutes. Both of them made appreciative sounds, but neither spoke. They rarely ate this kind of food. Diners, fast food and convenience stores made up most of their meals. Sam wasn't honestly sure that Dean had ever eaten like this.

"How often do Martin and Paul provide you with food?" Sam asked, reasoning that this might prove to be an explanation for Dean's willingness to stick around long term for this job.

"This is only the second time," Dean said. "You want some more?"

Sam regarded his nearly empty, sagging paper bowl. "I'm not sure the bowl is up to it."

"They're a buck for a package of a hundred, Sammy," Dean said, chortling. "We can afford to give you a new bowl."

"Then we can afford to use two in the first place," Sam said. He got up, threw away his ruined bowl and grabbed the package. He pulled out two bowls, keeping them nested together. "It's more sturdy that way."

"Whatever," Dean said with a shrug, but Sam saw that he followed his example in getting his seconds. He also noticed that his brother just shoved his old bowl aside instead of throwing it away. Dean cleared his throat. "So, Sammy, did you find anything we missed in your researches?"

Sam looked at his computer. This was the moment of truth. Did he tell Dean about his screw up, or did he pretend it never happened? He grimaced. "Um . . . not exactly," he said.

"What does 'not exactly' mean?" Dean asked, looking up from his food. When he saw Sam's face, his expression changed from ordinary curiosity to suspicion. "What is it?"

Sam looked down at the food in front of him. It suddenly didn't look so good. "I sort of found this case two years ago," he said, shoving the bowl away a little.

"You what?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, 'sort of'?"

Sam shrugged. "Things started seeming really familiar as I went further back in time, and I checked my journal." He gestured to his computer and Dean blinked at him.

"You keep your journal on there?" he asked. Sam nodded, shrugging. "What if it crashes? What if there's no power? What if some kind of EMF fries the frickin' thing?"

"I make regular back-ups," Sam said. "And I keep some of it in print form, just not all of it." Dean's brows were furrowed. "It's a heck of a lot easier to find stuff this way." Dean was still giving him a skeptical look, but Sam shook his head. "Anyway, I did a search on 'Salt Lake' and it turns out I'd located this string of disappearances in May of 2007."

"So why didn't you ever say anything?" Dean demanded.

"Because I wanted to get some background on it, and . . ." Dean gave him the look he'd been expecting and Sam grimaced. "I got too focused on you going to Hell, I guess. I forgot, and I never looked back through my journal for anything but contacts that whole year."

Dean pursed his lips and looked away, the way he always did whenever Sam mentioned Hell. He didn't say anything for a long moment, and neither of them moved. It felt really strained and uncomfortable, and Sam held himself back from pointing out that he'd been trying to save Dean's life or any of the other self-justifying comments that came leaping to mind. He hadn't saved Dean's life, despite all his efforts, and the one other thing he'd striven to do during that time period hadn't turned out so hot. He didn't want to go there again, and he knew Dean didn't.

"Okay," Dean said, his tone neutral. "Tell me that something useful comes out of this discovery of yours."

Sam tried not to let the ironic lilt Dean put on the word 'discovery' bug him too much and forced himself to focus on business. "I may have located another death," he said, and Dean's eyebrows went up. "It doesn't have all the features of the three this year, but it was also five years ago."

Dean nodded slowly. "In some ways, a shapeshifter serial killer is the same as any other kind of serial killer," he said. "They all escalate."

Sam nodded, but anxiety churned in his gut. Dean hadn't given him what for, so now he was giving it to himself. "Dean, ten guys have died this year, and eight or nine last year. If I'd been on the ball about this –"

"Sammy, now is not the time."

"I might as well have killed them myself."

Dean's eyes narrowed with anger. "You're right, Sammy," he said sharply, and Sam's jaw dropped. "You might as well have killed them yourself." Dean rose and reached into his pocket for the keys, jingling them in his hand. "You want me to drop you at the police station so you can turn yourself in?"

"Dean! I –"

"Snap of out it, Sam," Dean said harshly. "There are worse ways to screw up."

"And I've done those, too," Sam muttered.

"Self pity isn't going to solve anything."

"You think it's self pity?" Sam exclaimed.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What do you think it is?"

"Guilt, Dean."

"Guilt is feeling bad about it. Self pity is whining about feeling bad about it."

"What do you want me to do?" Sam demanded.

Dean's brows knit. "Drink more fluids," he said. "And put on another shirt. It's cold in here."

"Dean, that's not –"

"And you really shouldn't be going around barefoot. The floor is freezing."

"Why don't you just buy me a pair of lambskin slippers?" Sam growled, but then a pair of socks hit him in the face.

"Because that would be totally gay," Dean replied. "And you're supposed to be the straight one."

"Yeah, but _you_ would have bought them for me," Sam pointed out. Dean got a thoughtful look on his face, and Sam's eyes narrowed. "I was kidding, Dean."

"Put those on," Dean snapped, pointing at the socks that Sam still held in his hands.

Sam sat down and started pulling them on.

"I'm not ten, Dean," he said.

"No, you're twenty-six, and you've got the sense of a ten-year-old. You're still getting over the swine flu. You need to stay warm and hydrated."

"Whatever," Sam muttered. "When do you have to go to work?"

Dean glanced at the clock. "Another hour. You should stay home, make an early night of it."

"I thought I was going to work there."

"Jeff's not off till next week. You can start training with him later." Dean was looking at him anxiously. "Seriously, Sammy, you still look a little wiped."

Sam wanted to deny the truth of this, but he was already feeling kind of tired. "Is there only the one bed?" he asked.

"'Fraid so, Sammy," Dean replied. "Though I suppose we could get a futon couch or something."

"Those are never long enough for me," Sam said.

"I was thinking for me, Sasquatch." Dean stretched. "I'd better get a shower and spray on my tan."

Sam blinked. "You use spray-on tan?"

"It's either that or hit the tanning beds, and I'd like to keep the current texture of my skin as long as possible." With that, Dean disappeared into the bathroom. Sam returned to his research. They had to find whoever this guy was and stop him before he killed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, this story has over 60 chapters. It will go for a while.
> 
> No comments? Author is sad. *snif*


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Dean gazed at his wall of suspects while he dried off enough for the spray tan to take. He was pretty sure that Sam thought he was kidding, but the first time Ted had seen Dean's naked chest, he'd asked someone to bring him sunglasses. He wasn't real big on the going shirtless thing, though he didn't really mind the costume. It was kind of fun, actually, especially on the nights when girls showed up.

Martin had told him he should grow his hair out a little longer, but he just wasn't comfortable with any other look than the high and tight of his childhood. He'd kept wearing the buzz cut long after his father had let it go. He pulled on a pair of black jeans that were a size smaller than his usual preference, and laced up his black boots. That was something he hadn't had to buy for this job. He'd already had a pair of serious boots. Fortunately Ted didn't care if they were pirate-type boots, so long as it wasn't tennies or loafers or something equally dorky.

His chest was dry enough now, so he started spraying, trying to keep it even. Not that it mattered. It was dark enough inside Woody's that it wasn't a big issue if his tan was a little blotchy. He just didn't need to glow in the black light.

When he was done, he left his shirt off so the tan could dry and went to get another quick bowl of stew. A choking sound told him that he'd been right in his estimation of Sam.

"I thought you were joking!" Sam exclaimed. "Dean, that's –"

"Something you'll need to do, too, Sammy," Dean said. "We'll go out and pick you out a pair of black jeans later."

"Two pair," Sam said. "I am not spraying my chest orange."

"It's not orange," Dean replied. "It's . . . brownish, and it fades pretty quickly."

Sam's brows knit. "There's better stuff than that, Dean." Sam must have seen something in the expression on Dean's face, because a moment later he added, "Jess had something she used." He sounded a little defensive to Dean's ear.

"I see," Dean said in a knowing tone. Sam started to expostulate. "No, Sammy, it's no big deal. A lot of guys do weird stuff in college."

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, and Dean rolled his eyes. His brother was such an easy mark sometimes.

"I know I did weird stuff in college," Dean went on, quirking a grin at his brother.

"You never went to college."

"Well, I never attended college," Dean replied, giving Sam an amused look. "But I visited a few. Well-off, well brought up college kids like a taste of the bad boy. It makes them feel naughty, and the right kind of bad boy keeps them out of real trouble."

"Oh, so you perform a public service for college girls everywhere," Sam said sarcastically.

"You take pleasure where you find it, Sammy," Dean said, remembering a few encounters that his baby brother would find shocking.

"Right, right," Sam said. "Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die."

"Carpe diem," Dean replied, and Sam blinked at him. "I saw _Dead Poets Society_." He tilted his head. "Though I'm not quite sure why he kept telling people to seize the fish."

Sam goggled at him. "You . . . you're pulling my leg . . . aren't you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm pulling something. Now, don't go out. I don't want you to relapse."

"I'm not going to relapse, Dean," Sam protested.

"No, because you're going to do everything I say like a sensible little brother." Sam glowered at him, but he fell silent, and Dean resolved to call him later to make sure he was keeping to big brother's instructions. "I'll be back around two, but I expect you to be in bed by then."

"Go away, Dean," Sam growled.

Dean laughed and left the apartment, thumping down the stairs with a grin on his face. He was halfway back to the club before he thought again of the screw up Sam had admitted to. Two years . . . more like two and a half years. May of 2007 till November of 2009. There was no way of knowing how many guys had disappeared in that time frame that could have been avoided if Sam had kept his head. On the other hand, Sam had lost his head because of Dean's deal. On the other hand, if Dean hadn't made that deal, the case would have been missed anyway, because Dean would never have found the entry in Sam's journal that referred to it, not if his brother had been digital all the way back then. On the other hand, he . . . he was running out of hands. Suffice it to say, if Sam had said something back then, there were a number of guys who would not have died, including the three whose bodies he'd seen photos of from the police files Ellen had borrowed.

It didn't matter. What mattered was moving forward. He pulled into a parking spot about six buildings down from the club and got out of the car. The night was cool and crisp, and he was ready for an evening of hunting. It was kind of odd. In a sense, he would spend the night in a room full of hunters, just almost all the others were looking for something else, something fun. Only he and his quarry had the same thing in mind – death. Everyone else was celebrating life.

* * *

Sam hacked in and downloaded all the police files, then started looking up the lives of the guys who had disappeared, in case there was some relationship between that and the killer. After all, Dean thought it was a shapeshifter, and he thought he knew the motive, but they'd been wrong a time or two before. It never did to sit on an idea as if it was the only possibility.

Between them, Ellen, Jo and Dean had already come up with a rough profile of the typical victim. Male, white, between the ages of 25 and 35, last seen at a gay bar. Sam began to refine that a bit. All three of the guys who'd died in the last year fit that general description, but he thought they needed to take a closer look at their other similarities and differences. He grabbed Dean's computer and started a spreadsheet with names down the side and columns of things like 'hair color,' 'parents,' 'siblings,' 'profession,' 'relationship,' and so on. Using his machine to look up each of the missing men in various public record sources, he began to fill it in to see what fit and what didn't. By the time Dean got back, he had quite a lot of data amassed, going back as far as the death in 2004.

The door opened, and Sam glanced up vaguely before going back to work. He heard the keys hit a table and the sound of Dean's footsteps crossing the room. "Sammy!" Dean exclaimed. "What did I tell you?"

Sam looked up, blinking his suddenly burning eyes. "Not to go out," he said. "I didn't."

"Do you know what time it is?" Dean demanded.

Sam glanced at the lower right corner of his computer screen. "Just past three."

"You should be in bed."

"I need to shift my sleeping patterns to match the club's hours," Sam said, making it up as he went along. "And I think I'm on to something."

"I don't care what you're on to, Sammy, you need your rest, and you're going to get it."

Sam evaded Dean's grasp of his shoulder. "Dean, this is important."

"So is the fact that your eyes are bloodshot and red, and I'm willing to bet that you didn't eat anything after I left."

"I did," Sam said. "We need more chips."

"Seriously, Sammy?" Dean exclaimed, grabbing Sam by the arm and pulling him out of his chair. "You're getting over being sick and you eat chips for lunch and dinner?"

Sam suddenly realized just how tired he really was. Sitting hunched up in front of the two computers had given him aches in his back and neck. "It's fine, Dean," he muttered. "I'm going to bed, okay? Just look at that spreadsheet I made and see what you think."

Dean gave Sam a little more help than he either wanted or needed in getting to bed, but once flat Sam lay still, his mind floating away. He could hear Dean moving around for a bit, but then he gradually sank too deep for that.

* * *

Dean had seen Sam drive himself like this before, but usually he needed a personal connection to a case to cause it. He walked around, tidying up a little, checking to see if Sam had actually eaten something else, or if his brother had just been trying to get a rise out of him. Nothing seemed to be missing from any of the cupboards or the fridge besides two bags of chips, Doritos and Wavy Lays, and the level in the crockpot hadn't changed. Great. He'd managed to get two different kinds of starch into himself, but nothing actually healthy.

Dean threw away the two bags of chips and got himself a bowl of stew. Then he went and sat in Sam's little office space, two computers pulled far too close for comfort. The spreadsheet was on his machine, so he closed Sam's and focused on his. Sam had done an amazing amount of work, correlating similarities and differences between the men who had vanished. Dean flipped through the pages, then shook his head. He turned on the filter function and began tallying which characteristics Sam had noted appeared in most of the guys. Three weeks at Sandover had given him a whole new appreciation of computers.

Sam usually downloaded the stuff he hacked off police and FBI sites, so Dean opened his computer and started flipping through the files. He hadn't gotten a chance to look them over, because Ellen hadn't been able to steal them. She'd just written down the important points and passed her notes on to him.

He was reading through Jacob Wendt's file when he noticed something odd. He wasn't sure what it meant, but he decided to check the other two files to see if they showed the same anomaly. Reuben Guerrera . . . yup. Steve Carpenter, ditto.

If it hadn't been past four in the morning, he might have called Bobby or Ellen to bounce his thoughts off them, but either one would kill him for waking them up to chat. He got up, took a shower to wash all the scent of cigarettes and other people's cologne off himself and climbed into bed.

* * *

Dean woke up with the bed empty and sat up, looking around for Sam. He was across the room, sitting at the computers, eyebrows furrowed. Dean got up, used the bathroom and then went into the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of cereal.

"Dean, what did you do to my spreadsheet?" Sam asked all of a sudden.

Dean looked over at him. "Nothing, dude."

"There are little buttons with arrows on them in the headers," Sam said, "and some of my data seems to be missing."

"Oh, did I forget to take the filter off?" Dean asked. He walked over and cancelled the filter he'd accidentally left on the 'parents' column. "A lot of those guys are either estranged from their families or just don't have anyone left."

"I noticed that," Sam said. "How did you know how to do that?"

Dean pointed at the toolbar at the top of the screen and shrugged. "It's not that hard, Sammy, and don't forget, I was director of sales and marketing at Sandover. Some of it stuck."

Sam blinked at him and went back to work. "You find anything last night?"

Dean turned around, his late night epiphany suddenly coming to him afresh. "Actually, I did. Pull up the Wendt file."

"Okay." Sam tapped for a minute then said, "What?"

"Look at the descriptions each witness gave of the guy they saw leaving with Wendt."

"Dean, I've already . . . oh."

"Weird, huh?" Sam was silent for a moment, and Dean raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "Eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable."

"Unreliable?" Dean exclaimed. "Dude, every witness describes a different guy. One of them is blond, one of them has a beard, one of them is frickin' black. That's odd."

"It doesn't necessarily mean anything," Sam said. "The questions weren't even asked till a couple of weeks later. But it does explain why the cops had so much trouble."

"It's the same with all three of the dead guys, though," Dean said. "I think it might be significant."

"I'm not saying we ignore it, Dean," Sam replied. "It's another piece of the puzzle."

Dean sighed. "I'm just going to have to keep setting myself up as bait, though I don't know how appealing I'll be with a sasquatch of a brother hanging around."

"Bait?" Sam repeated, his eyes going wide. "You deliberately set yourself up as bait? I thought the gay waiter was a ploy to gain information."

Dean stared at him, a little startled by his angry response. "It was – is – but it's also bait. Come on, Sammy, I fit right into this guy's victim profile. White male, between 25 and 35, with the emphasis on 25 –"

"Dean, you're thirty," Sam said.

Dean ignored him. "Parents dead, extremely hot, and convincingly gay. The sibling might prove a problem, but I'm also right there among the herd of other guys fitting that profile. Something's bound to turn up, sooner or later."

"With the emphasis on later," Sam said sourly.

"If you've got an idea of how to speed it up, I'm all ears."

Sam shook his head. "No, unfortunately this one is a waiting game. I've got another year to get into the spreadsheet."

"Cool, then I'm going to go take a walk."

"A walk?" Sam said.

"Why do you keep repeating what I say?" Dean asked. "Yeah, a walk. I figure I'll go pick up your car and drive it back here. That way you have it handy for when I start letting you go outside again."

"Letting me?"

"For a college boy, you seem to have some trouble grasping things," Dean said with a snort, grabbing Sam's keys. "Must be the flu."

"Dean, you are just –"

"Unbelievable, I know. You said that before."

Sam glowered at him. "I'm not sick anymore, Dean. I need to build my immunities back up, and I won't do that sitting around this apartment."

"You need to rest. You probably should have stayed in bed a couple more days, and I'm sure you should have stayed with Bobby a little longer."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm fine!"

"Good, then stay that way by staying home," Dean said, and he shut the door behind himself. He knew he was driving Sam nuts, but the last thing they needed with the Apocalypse looming was Sam at less than his best. He strode down the streets in the mid-morning chill. It was Sunday, so things were pretty quiet in the business section, especially since it was still before noon. He glanced at his watch. Not much before noon, but still before.

A woman exited a building about twenty feet ahead of him, closing the door and pushing on it as if to make sure it was latched. Of course, there were always the poor schlubs who had to work on Sundays, for whatever reason. There wasn't a car in sight, and since there was plenty of parking available, Dean figured she had to be heading for a bus stop. She glanced around and saw him walking towards her, and he watched with approval as she gave him an incurious look and started walking. He could see that she was wary, she'd be stupid not to be, but letting him know that would be an invitation to some prick with mischief on his mind.

His hands were stuffed into his pockets. He never could seem to remember his gloves. Sam would make some comment about his lack of preparation, but gloves got in the way if he had to do anything finicky. He'd take them off, he'd leave them wherever they were, and he'd lose them. Inevitably. No point, really.

The woman turned right at the corner up ahead of him, and when Dean drew abreast of the spot a moment later, he glanced to the right and blinked. She was nowhere to be seen. There was a bus stop about half a block down, but she had utterly vanished. There didn't seem to be any doorways along there, just an alley behind the buildings. He slowed to a stop and then he heard a muffled squeaking. He took off towards the alley and found the woman trying to fight off two guys. One had his arms around her, a hand muffling her mouth, and the other guy had his hands in places that were just wrong. That was all he glimpsed before he slammed the handsy guy in the face with a punch that knocked him flat. The other guy flung the woman at him and took off, followed shortly by Mr. Hands.

Dean caught the woman, who clung to him for a moment. "You okay, sweetheart?"

She sniffled and drew back abruptly, as if she'd suddenly realized that she was holding onto a totally strange man. "I'm fine," she said, her voice wobbly.

"I'm sure," he replied with more sympathy than sarcasm. She looked freaked, and about twelve even though he was pretty sure she was over thirty. "You want me to call the cops?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Please, no."

Dean's eyes opened wide. "Whatever you want," he said. "But you should probably go to a hospital and get checked out." She had bruises coming in on her face and arms, and her clothes were torn.

She straightened them as best she could. "I'm fine," she said.

"When's your bus come?" Dean asked.

"It should –" There was a whoosh down the alley and they both heard the diesel engine of the bus as it went past. Dean ran out to the end of the alley, but by the time he got there, the bus was already turning on the next block.

He turned back to find the woman squeezing her eyes shut to hold back tears. "When does the next bus come?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It doesn't. That was the last one today."

Sunday bus schedules typically sucked. "How far away do you live?" he asked. She made an unhappy face and shook her head again, looking away, tears starting despite her best efforts. In Dean's mind, that translated to 'too far to walk.' He bit his lip and shrugged. "Do you have someone you can call?"

"Not really," she replied. "My mom doesn't drive, and I don't have anyone who . . ." She took a deep breath to control her emotions.

Dean grimaced. "As I see it, you've got two options. You can call a cab." Her eyes widened, and she started shaking her head again. "Or I can give you a lift. I've got a car about two blocks up on –"

"I don't know you," she protested.

"No, you don't," he said. "But I can assure you that I am entirely trustworthy." That made her smile a little at least. He cast his mind around for possible reasons for her to trust him and came up with an answer that didn't thrill him, but that would probably work. "Seriously, there are two big reasons you can trust me. One, I'm a good guy." She gave him an amused but dubious look, and he went for the clincher. "Two, I'm gay."

Her eyebrows went up, and she looked at him a little more closely. "You are?"

"I am. My name's Dean."

"Danica," she said.

He gestured with his head towards the end of the alley. "Will you let me take you home, Danica?"

She looked a little dubious still, but then she took in a deep breath and nodded. "Okay, but you have to let me pay you for the gas." Dean didn't say anything, he just started walking and she turned to go with him. He wasn't going to take her money, but he didn't think he wanted to start that argument now. "You don't sound like you're from around here," she said after a few moments of silent walking.

"Nope," Dean said. "I'm kind of from all over."

"How long have you been in town?"

"Not quite a month," Dean replied. "Got a job, figured I'd stop for a while."

She nodded and they went silent again until they reached the car. "Okay, if you hadn't told me before, now I'd know you were gay," she said with a laugh, looking at the little white car. Dean had forgotten about the seat covers with their bright pink flamingos all over them. Taking them off wasn't an option, though, the seats themselves were in really bad shape.

Dean shrugged and unlocked the door, hoping Sammy hadn't left anything too exciting or racy out where it was visible. Nothing like the wrong porn to completely screw up a good story. He held the door for her and she got in, putting her bag between her feet and leaning back against the seat with a sigh. He closed the door gently and went around to the driver's side. Fortunately, he didn't have to force his body into a tiny space, Sam had already pushed the seat back as far as it went. Dean pulled it up a notch and made sure he had the full range of clutch motion before starting it up.

"Where are we headed?" he asked.

She gave him directions and refused all his suggestions of doctors and hospitals and cops. The last he was leery of himself. He'd been dead for a while, and he didn't particularly want to come back to life. Still, he wondered why she didn't want to go. "So, Danica, you can totally ignore me if you want, but I was just wondering _why_ you don't want to go to the cops."

Danica looked sideways at him, then shrugged. "My boss would make me stop working overtime on the weekends. He's already worried about security for me, if he got wind that I was actually attacked, he'd put a stop to it."

"Is it worth it?"

"I need the money," she said. "I've got a kid and rent and my mom can't work these days, so I can't afford to lose the time."

"Well, then, if you feel up to it, and are interested, I could give you some pointers on self defense." She raised her eyebrows. "I know a thing or two about getting beat up on."

"We'll see," she said, which he knew was code for no, but he'd made the effort.

He pulled up outside the apartment building she'd directed him to. "Look," he said, as she gathered her bag up. There was a scrap of paper and a pen in the cup holder. He grabbed them and scribbled his name and number. "If you change your mind later and decide to go to the cops, and you need a witness, give me a call, okay?"

She took the scrap of paper. "Thanks." She nodded towards her building. "I hope this wasn't too far out of your way."

"Nah," Dean said deprecatingly.

Danica tilted her head. "Where do you live?"

He blinked. Caught. "Do you know that coffee shop that turns into a club at night?"

"That internet place, LOL, or whatever, sure."

"I live above it. Second floor loft."

She gave him a sardonic look. "No, this isn't out of your way at all."

He shrugged. "Hey, I helped a damsel in distress. What could be wrong with that?"

"Not a lot," she said, a smile showing suddenly out of her cynicism. "Thank you, Dean. Take care."

"You be careful, Danica," he replied. He watched her walk into the building, then put the Festiva into gear and drove back to LOL. He'd better pick Sam up some coffee on the way in.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam looked up from his spreadsheet and stretched his aching neck. This table was a little low for him to be truly comfortable working at it and . . . he glanced at the clock . . . he'd been working for three hours without moving much. He stood up and stretched fully, grimacing when he discovered he could place his hands flat on the ceiling. Dean would make some kind of remark about his insane height.

Sam looked around, blinking. Dean should be back by now. He'd only been walking maybe three or four miles and driving back. He walked over to his pile of clothing and dug his phone out of his jeans pocket. Hitting speed dial, he held the phone to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you?"

"In your teeny weeny little car, across town."

"That car belongs to Bobby," Sam growled.

"Whatever."

"Why are you across town?"

"Long story, I'll explain when I get there."

"Job-related?"

"I don't think so," Dean said.

"You don't think so?" Sam repeated.

"What is with you and all this repeating stuff?" Dean exclaimed. Sam just grunted. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with the job. It involved a girl, for one thing."

"How shocking, Dean gets delayed because of a girl," Sam growled. "What's that going to do for your cover, dude?"

"I told her I was gay," Dean replied airily.

"And she believed you?"

"Especially after she saw your pink flamingo seat covers."

"Those are not mine," Sam snapped. "They're not even Bobby's. They belong to whatever chick owned the car before."

"You are such an easy mark, brother," Dean said, a laugh in his voice.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Great, that's just great. Dean, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean said. "It was a minor detour. I should be back in thirty minutes. Want some fast food or something?"

"I was thinking about ordering pizza."

"Do it. I bet I'll beat it there."

"Right. What's your address?" Dean gave it to him, and Sam hung up, hoping that Dean wasn't going to speed too much to beat the pizza here. He called and placed the order, two pizzas so Dean's unfortunate anchovies couldn't spill over onto his half. Then he went and sat down at the computer, looking up cocktail recipes to remind himself. He was going to get that job tonight whether Dean thought he was ready or not.

* * *

Dean pulled up in the best parking spot he'd managed to get all week, shoehorning the tiny car into a spot most people wouldn't have attempted. He'd probably be roundly cursed by the guys in the SUVs on either side of the Festiva in the morning, but he was good.

He got out of the car and walked swiftly along the street towards his building. He saw the pizza delivery guy pull up outside and broke into a trot. "Hey?" he called.

The pizza guy stopped and looked at him anxiously. "What?" he asked.

"You here for the second floor apartment?"

"Yeah," he replied, his anxiety clearing up.

"I can save you a flight of stairs, then," Dean said, pulling out his wallet. "How much?" A few minutes later he was on his way up to the apartment. Feeling a little full of mischief, he knocked on the door and waited.

Sam opened the door, his grin telling Dean that he was pleased at having won the bet. His eyes widened upon seeing Dean outside with two pizza boxes and a bag of two liters in his hands. "Dude, you gonna let me in?"

Sam backed up. "I guess you didn't get a ticket," he groused.

"I didn't speed, Sammy, it's Sunday. Traffic is light on Sundays around here." Dean put the pizzas and sodas down on the table and picked up Sam's laptop to put it aside. It was open to a description of the Purple Nurple. "Dude, you getting ready to tend bar?"

"Since that's my job in this undercover operation."

Dean shrugged. "I talked to Ted last night. He wants you to come in Wednesday."

"Wednesday!" Sam exclaimed. "Dude, that's three days away."

"Yeah, but we're closed on Monday and Tuesday," Dean said. "Wednesday is a quiet night, he and Jeff can give you a try and see how you do. That will give you a couple of days to prepare to be alone on the weekend."

Sam scowled at him. "You're just trying to keep me at home longer."

"You can come to the club tonight, if you want, man, but all you'll be able to do is hang out, and it's not really your scene."

"I should probably get a feel for the atmosphere," Sam pointed out, and Dean scowled. "I can start looking out for suspicious characters."

"If you hang out at the bar for an entire shift, it will look really strange, Sammy." He shook his head. "One more night at home, analyzing your spreadsheet for commonalities, looking for patterns. There may very well be people on that list that are irrelevant, and if I know you and your big brain, you can get a lot of that done if you're left alone for a while."

"Dean, we need to find this guy so we can move on to the next job."

"Yeah, and I think your time would be better spent on analysis than in sitting around a bar, getting hit on by random men, and both looking and feeling out of place. You don't really have a knack for fitting in."

"And you do?" Sam demanded.

"You said it yourself, Sammy. I mean, there was the prison, there was the movie set, and at Sandover I fit in way better than you did."

"I fit in fine," Sam protested, looking nettled.

"You hit on me in the elevator more than once. You were awkward and weird. You did not fit in."

"I wasn't hitting on you!" Sam growled. "That's disgusting."

Dean shrugged. "It's not like you knew I was your brother."

"I wasn't hitting on you!" Sam glowered at him. "I was having dreams that you were in, fighting ghosts and demons and monsters, and I wanted to know what it meant."

"Most guys having dreams like that would hide them from the other guy that was in them if he was a stranger. Not you, Sammy, which is why you don't fit in."

Sam sighed and shrugged himself. "I guess I was sort of hanging out with the misfits."

"What do you mean?"

"I was hanging with both the guys who suicided, Dean, the ones that P.T. Sandover rewired into perfect office drones."

"So, two guys who were screwing off. That's so . . . not you. It's more me, I would think." Dean snorted. "Weird."

"Paul was watching porn on work time, and Ian wouldn't wear the uniform or shave, and he stole office supplies." Sam grimaced. "He was actually kind of a dick. I made the mistake of telling him about one of my dreams, and after that he asked me every day and made fun of me every day."

Dean blinked at him. "You told one of your co-workers about your creepy dreams?" he asked, and Sam shrugged. "Dude, you have no social skills."

"Whatever," Sam said. "I've spent too much time sitting around over the last month. I want to do something."

"Fine, let's go find you some nice black jeans, and you can show me this better tanning stuff that you know about because of your _girlfriend_." Dean put an extra emphasis on the last word to needle his brother, and Sam glared at him. "Unless you're too embarrassed."

"Going shopping isn't the kind of 'doing something' I meant," Sam said irritably.

"No kidding, but there's no point at all in you going to the bar tonight. I think you'd do better to get a feel for the place on any other night, anyway."

"Why?"

"Because tonight is ladies' night."

"Ladies' night?" Sam repeated, raising his eyebrows. "At a gay club?"

Dean decided not to mention the repetition this time. "Yeah, think about what that means in the context of homosexual culture, Sammy." Sam just shook his head. "Most of the girls have really deep voices and Adam's apples," Dean explained. Sam's eyes widened. "It's not the usual crowd, and none of our victims disappeared on a ladies' night, so it's probably not relevant anyway."

"Well, if we're going shopping before you head to work, I guess we'd better be going."

They headed to the mall, a building full of disgruntled looking teenagers and the occasional older folks, walking like they were prepping for marathons. Walking marathons. Dean took Sam to the store where he'd picked up his jeans and found a couple of pairs for him.

"Dean, these aren't my size."

"You're dressing to look hot for a bunch of gay guys, Sammy. They should be good and tight."

"I don't want to attract gay guys," Sam protested.

"You're on parade, Sammy. Some people think you're pretty, and you're going to be working in a club where sexuality is on display. It's your job to remind the customers that they're young and hot and ready for action, whether you provide the action or not."

Sam grabbed two pairs of jeans and walked back to the fitting rooms. Dean waited, and Sam came out far too quickly, paid for the pants and they went on to the next store. "Dude, you really don't get it, do you?"

"I'm going to be behind the bar, Dean. My legs won't really be visible." Sam led the way to a bath and body store where he talked to the clerk and found some kind of lotion. The clerk flirted with Sammy as she helped him find what he was looking for and Dean contemplated ways to get Sam to take the next step with her – or any girl, for that matter. He needed to get Ruby out of his system.

He didn't know what his expression looked like, but after they'd left the store, he noticed Sam giving him a dubious look. "Don't, Dean."

"Don't what?"

"Try to fix me up with anyone."

Dean gave him an irritable glance. "What makes you think I'd do something like that?"

"Oh, I don't know, Dean, maybe the fact that you've done it so many times before? Maybe because you had that weird, speculative look on your face while Mandy and I were talking about lotions. Maybe just because you're transparent on the subject of sexuality, which is why I can't figure out how you're managing to pass as gay."

"Lots of gay guys have an appreciation of the female anatomy, Sam," Dean replied. "They just don't express it the same way."

"By staring and making lewd comments, you mean?"

"Are you referring to me?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows theatrically. Sam glowered at him, and Dean grinned. He was having a great time on this case, not least because it was giving him such an opportunity to get Sammy's goat.

Sam grimaced. "Not really, you don't actually make lewd comments. Not out loud, at least."

Dean shrugged. "It's actually quite common for gay guys to gaze at, comment on and flirt with women – way more acceptable, actually, for them than for straight guys, amusingly enough."

"So, where were you earlier? What took so long?"

"Oh, right," Dean said. "Some guys were mugging this chick, so I ran them off and drove her home."

"What?" Sam exclaimed.

Dean scowled. "There were two guys, and they were actually looking for more than money, so I punched one and they both ran off."

Sam shook his head, clearly disgusted. "To quote you, 'humans, man.'"

Dean snorted. "Yeah. Couple of cowards. They were fine against a hundred pound chick, but I punch one of them and they're both gone."

"Perfect."

They headed back to the apartment, and Dean showered, scrubbing the spray-on stuff he'd been using off the best he could. In its place, he put on the lotion. "It doesn't seem to be doing much, Sammy."

"It takes several applications to come to its full effect," Sam said.

"I need not to blind people tonight."

"You'll be fine, and this will last longer."

Dean finished getting ready and paused at the door. "See you in the morning, Sammy. Get some rest tonight, okay?"

"I need to adjust my schedule if I'm going to be working nights with you," Sam pointed out. "Run along, have fun, keep your eyes open."

"I always do."

Dean enjoyed ladies' night in a way that he would never have expected to. Some of those guys actually made pretty hot chicks, and a lot of real chicks also showed up on ladies' night. Tonight there was a competition to see who made the best chick, and he'd heard that a couple of real ones always participated to confuse the judges. He snapped pictures as he wandered about, in between taking and filling orders. He took the occasional pat on the ass in stride because he knew it was just a game. If anyone had actually done anything out of line, he would have taken their hand off for them, but this was all just play.

As the evening progressed, he became aware of a sense of being watched. This wasn't exactly new, he was constantly being watched in this place. He didn't mind so much, though. Something about being gazed at with desire was kind of a turn on. But as time passed, he gradually became aware that this was no casual observance. There was an intensity, a consistency to it that was unsettling. He glanced around, and his eyes were arrested by the sight of a man staring at him.

The man looked to be between forty and fifty, and he was solidly built. His hair was dark with just the faintest hint of gray at the temples that looked like an accent more than a detraction. He was dressed in real clothes, not the frippery crap most of the guys wore to the club. Dark jeans, heavy boots and a green turtleneck under a brown button front shirt that he wore as kind of a jacket. Dean met the man's gaze, and he felt himself drawn into those deep brown eyes.

Martin bumped into him slipping between the tables that edged the dance floor, distracting him, and when Dean looked back, the man was gone. He looked around, startled, but he didn't see the man anywhere.

He shook his head and got back to work, mildly disturbed by the flush that had come over him while he and the man had been looking at one another. He felt flattered by the attention, and that was weird, because it wasn't like the guy had said or done anything.

Over the next several hours, he kept sensing that someone still watched him with that curious intensity, but though he looked, he couldn't see anyone. He continued to take photos, and took down a couple of e-mail addresses to forward pictures to. Sammy could be smart, sometimes.

The bar ran out of pretzels shortly after eleven, and Dean went to the basement to get some more from the storage down there. The basement door was off the same hall that the bathrooms and the emergency exit were on, so he opened the door marked 'Private' and shut it behind him. He trotted down the steps, turned right and went down to the end of the room to grab a bag of pretzels off the rack. He made a mental note to let Ted know they were getting low. It was weird, this having a job thing. Made him think in a whole different way.

The door opened as Dean turned to go back upstairs. "What'cha need? I'm already grabbing the pretzels!" he called out to whoever it was. The door shut without anyone speaking, and Dean shrugged. Maybe whoever it was had been coming for the pretzels and had just left. Irritating, but not a crime. Then he heard footsteps coming down. Okay, maybe they hadn't heard him. He took in a breath to speak, to warn the guy, because he'd startled a few people down here because of his 'quiet ways,' but before he could give voice to his greeting, an unexpected figure turned the corner, lifting his finger to his lips for quiet.

It was the guy Dean had noticed watching him earlier. Dean knew he should tell him to leave, that the basement was off limits to customers, but his words caught in his throat. Dark eyes bored into his and Dean froze, his heart suddenly racing. There was a pleasant shiver in his gut, and he felt an unexpected stirring in his groin.

The older man approached Dean with a slow, implacable stride. His gaze roved Dean's body with something like satisfaction, then landed on Dean's eyes again. Despite the flutter of anticipation Dean experienced, he started to back up. He didn't really understand where this was coming from, or the way he felt. A curious mix of anxiety and lust made him flush. He'd never had this strong a reaction to any guy before, and precious few women. The man didn't pause in his stride, just walking wordlessly towards Dean, his eyes speaking volumes of intent. Dean's back hit the wall next to the shelves, and he stopped. His mind had frozen on what was happening, not moving forward or back, and though he felt flickers of alarm, he didn't seem able to consider escape or anything beyond what he half-hoped, half-feared was coming.

The stranger walked straight into Dean's space bubble. Dean shook his head. Sex games had no place in a case. He raised his hands and tried to speak, to convey his cover story about a bad break up, but the stranger smiled slightly and took hold of Dean's wrists. Startled, Dean tried to pull his arms away. After a brief, half-hearted struggle, he found himself pushed back against the wall, his arms held above his head, the man's body pressed against his, a musky aroma filling his nostrils. The kind of damage he'd have to do to get away at this point would be out of place unless things went a hell of a lot farther.

"Hey, dude, slow down," Dean protested. "I –" Taking advantage of the wide open vowel, the other man leaned in, tilting his head and claiming Dean's mouth with his own. The kiss didn't altogether take Dean by surprise, and he was prepared to tolerate it long enough to tell the guy to back off. He'd seen this sort of thing happen occasionally outside the bar and at some of the parties he'd been to, and all he had to do was tell the guy he wasn't interested and it would be fine.

The kiss was passionate and probing, and, despite a certain knowledge that this was a bad idea, Dean felt himself begin to respond. His heart thudded in his chest, and his groin throbbed in time with it. He started to kiss back, trading pleasure for pleasure, no longer thinking about much. He felt the other man's arousal, and his body stirred to match it. Then there was a sudden vibration that made Dean's body twitch.

The man stepped back and reached into the front pocket of his jeans for a cellular phone. It was black with some kind of symbol on the back in red. Dean's brain didn't really do more than register it. His hands dropped to his sides, feeling oddly bereft. The man looked at his phone, murmured something that sounded profane, then shoved it back into his pocket. "I've got to go," he said, his voice deep and husky with a feeling Dean shared. He put his hand on Dean's cheek and kissed him again. "Catch you later, Dean," he murmured into Dean's lips, and then he was gone.

Dean leaned back against the wall, stunned beyond reason for several moments. How had that happened? How had he let that happen? Sam might think he was oversexed, but he was the one who had the common sense to avoid entanglements while they were on a job. He abruptly realized that he didn't even know the man's name. He might not remember a partner's name later, but he always got her name before they got down to business.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his clothes and picked up the pretzel bag off the floor. He took the stairs two at a time on the way up and got back to work.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam closed his laptop and looked at the wall opposite. His eyes ached, and he thought he needed to get away from endless lists of names. A break would freshen his mind.

The stew was almost gone, so he left the remainder for Dean and made himself a couple of hot dogs. He grabbed some chips and a banana and went over to the couch to sit and read. He finished his meal and kept reading about the secret lives of serial killers. It was fascinating, and it might actually prove useful on this case.

A loud knock woke him up, and the book fell to the floor. He swung his feet off the sofa and shook his head, trying to loosen the weight of his sleepiness. Rising, he glanced at his watch. Two in the morning? Shouldn't Dean be back? He couldn't have forgotten his keys, or he wouldn't have gotten to work.

He opened the door and stared in befuddlement at Ellen, who was supporting Jo, who was filthy and banged up, with cuts on her forehead and right arm, and bruises all over. "You gonna let us in, Sam?" Ellen demanded, and Sam backed up quickly.

"What happened?"

"Ghost got a good swipe in before the bones burned," Ellen replied.

Jo grimaced as her mother lowered her to a kitchen chair that Sam hastily pulled out from the table. "It knocked me off an embankment."

"Did you land on a pile of rocks?" Sam asked.

"Deadfall," she replied.

"Ugh." Sam leaned towards her forehead, scrutinizing the injury. "I think that one will be okay, but the arm's going to need stitched."

"You got the stuff?" Jo asked.

Sam nodded and went to the bathroom for the kit. Dean had truly settled in. Things had places, and they were even in them. It was weird. By the time he got back to Jo, Ellen had already found the whisky and was disinfecting the cut. Jo hissed, and Sam winced in sympathy. He set his kit on the table, pulled up another chair and got to work. Ellen looked a little surprised by his immediately setting to the task of stitching Jo's wound, but he never even thought twice about it.

"Maybe you should go get cleaned up, Ellen," he suggested. "Dean should be back shortly."

"Where is he?" Ellen asked, glancing towards the bathroom.

"At work," Sam replied.

"Work?" Jo exclaimed. "What work?"

Sam glanced back and forth between them. "You know that club you identified as the epicenter of the problem?" he asked. Ellen nodded. "Dean got a job there, he's posing as a gay waiter."

"What is it with you Winchesters and setting yourselves up as bait?" Ellen asked rhetorically.

"Actually, according to Dean it was just the best way to get information because people talk to waiters."

"That's true enough," Jo said. "I've heard more guys' life stories."

"And I guess I'm starting there tomorrow night as a fill in bartender."

"Oh, are you posing as gay, too?" Ellen asked.

"God, no," Sam replied. "I don't know how Dean does it, but he seems to have managed to convince everyone at that club that he's –"

The door opened, and they all looked up to see Dean walking in. He was pulling his coat off as he came in, shaking it out to hang it up on a hook by the door. This gave Ellen and Jo a clear look at the uniform he was wearing.

"Oh my God," Ellen breathed.

Dean whirled and stared, then struck a pose. "Am I not the hottest gay waiter you've seen in a long time?"

Ellen chuckled. "You might be, if you were gay," she exclaimed. "Dean, that's . . ." She paused, and Sam thought she was controlling laughter. "That's mighty fine."

"Just wait till Sam's all decked out, complete with a stuffed parrot on his shoulder."

'I told you I wouldn't wear the parrot, Dean," Sam said, still smoothly stitching Jo's cut.

"What happened to you?" Dean asked.

"Stupid accident," Jo said dismissively. "That is an interesting look, Dean. Have you gotten a lot of dates?"

"I could have," Dean said. "Only I've put it around that I recently had a bad break up, so people are being sensitive." Jo began to giggle, and Ellen joined in a moment later, and Sam glanced over at Dean, who looked slightly miffed. He bit his lips together to keep from laughing himself. "I'm going to change," Dean announced. "Sam, order a pizza for our guests."

Dean disappeared into the bathroom, and Sam let himself grin. "Ellen, would you do the honors? The number is by the phone."

Ellen made the call, ordering two pizzas. Sam finished stitching Jo's skin, gave it one more splash of whiskey for good measure, then stepped back.

"Thanks," Jo said, pulling her sleeve down with a grimace. There wasn't much point. This was clearly the outfit she'd been wearing when she was hurt.

"Where are you guys staying?"

"We're between domiciles at the moment," Ellen said. "We'd finished – or so we thought – with the job. We were already packed up and ready to go, but we decided –"

"It was my idea," Jo put in.

"We decided," her mother repeated with emphasis, "to check out the site one more time before we headed out."

Jo rolled her eyes. "And it turned out it wasn't quite over."

"That happens way too often," Dean said, emerging from the bathroom wearing real clothes. "You guys staying the night?"

"No," Jo said, but her mother spoke at the same moment.

"If you don't mind. We'll be on our way tomorrow early enough."

Sam stared at his brother, ignoring the byplay between Jo and Ellen. Something looked different, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Dean glanced up, noticed Sam looking, and didn't call him on it, which was a little odd. "Dean, were you wearing make up just now?" he asked.

"Me? Make up?" Dean scoffed. "Of course not."

Ellen walked over and lifted his chin, gazing at his face. "You didn't get all the eyeliner off, Dean," she observed dispassionately. "Come help me get our bags in from the car, would you?"

"Of course," he said, and they went outside.

Sam stared after them. "Eyeliner? She was kidding, right?"

Jo shook her head, eyes wide. "I don't think so." Their eyes met, and Sam could tell she found that just as unsettling as he did.

* * *

"Are you trying to freak your brother out?" Ellen asked as they went down the stairs.

Dean laughed. "Nope, it's just a bonus. He's embarrassingly easy to get, though, Ellen." He shook his head. "After everything we've been through, you wouldn't think that a little eyeliner would phase him in the slightest."

"On his macho older brother?" Ellen said, clearly amused. "Really, Dean!"

Dean shrugged. "Martin said I needed a little something, and I couldn't turn him down."

"Martin?"

"One of the other waiters," Dean said. "What with the lighting and the atmosphere, he said my eyes sink into my face without a little boost."

Ellen led the way down a couple of blocks and opened her car door. "I see," she said. "So, how's it going?"

"Slow," he replied. "Sammy's uncovered a few things, and he managed to download the police files on the three dead guys, which gives us a little more detail to go on."

"I always relied on Ash for that stuff," Ellen said, and they both fell silent for a moment. Ellen handed him a bag that smelled faintly of Jo's favorite scent, grabbed her own, and they headed back to the apartment after she locked the car again. "So what's turned up?"

"A whole lot more possibles," Dean said. He wasn't going to tell Ellen that Sam had found this case two years back and failed to follow it up. Of all the people they knew, Ellen and Bobby were the most likely not to blame Sam for that failure, but Dean didn't think Sam would appreciate him passing it on. "Nothing concrete yet, though. Sam's hip deep in analysis, so we'll just have to see where that takes him."

"And in the meantime you're out there as bait," Ellen said, and Dean could just tell what her opinion of that was.

"Well, better me than some poor dude who doesn't have back up."

"You didn't have back up for three weeks."

"Yeah, well, I'm a little more able to protect myself than your average guy, and I keep a silver knife on me at all times. "

Ellen shook her head. "That's good at least, but you need to stop thinking of yourself as expendable."

"Oh, I don't," he replied. "Don't worry about me, Ellen. I'm sticking around."

She gave him a motherly look and said, "So, you meet anyone? This Martin guy?"

"No, Martin's with someone," Dean said. Injecting a little pathos into his tone, he added, "Besides, I'm still getting over that awful break up with Cas."

A startled laugh escaped Ellen. "Castiel?" she asked. Dean nodded, looking woebegone. Ellen smacked him on the shoulder. "Does he know?"

"We haven't talked about it, but he's been calling night and day, and I had to come up with an explanation for all the calls." At that moment his phone rang and he glanced at the ID. Giving Ellen a glance and rolling his eyes, he opened it. "Hey Cas, how's it hanging?"

"It hangs well enough," Castiel said, and Dean snorted. Cas knew that greeting these days, but he still didn't really know how to respond. He continued in his usual sober manner. "Have you heard anything about Crowley?"

"Keeping my ear to the ground, but nothing yet."

Cas's glacial voice took on a puzzled tone. "Why would having your ear on the ground help you?"

Dean shook his head. "It's an expression, Cas, it just means that I'm paying attention."

"Good," Castiel said. "How is Sam doing with that pig disease?"

Dean didn't laugh. "He's over the pig disease," he said, and Ellen's eyes danced. "But he's still a little wiped."

"Wiped?" Castiel repeated.

"Run down," Dean said, and Cas responded with a puzzled silence. "He gets tired easy."

"I see. I will call you when I have more information." He was gone before Dean could respond, and Dean tucked his phone away.

"Did he tell you anything important?"

"No!" Dean said, exasperated. "That's the thing. He keeps calling, but I don't really know why."

Ellen shook her head. "Maybe he's just worried about you, Dean, and he knows how good you are at keeping in touch with people."

Dean gave her a sidelong look. "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry, Ellen?" he asked. "I didn't leave you out of the loop on purpose."

"Oh, I know," Ellen said. "Or I'd have been a good bit more angry." Remembering the slap she'd delivered, Dean was glad she hadn't been more angry.

They walked back into the apartment, and Jo turned towards Dean with wide eyes. "Have you lost your mind?" she demanded.

Dean blinked at her. "Come again?"

"The photo montage in the bathroom seems a little over the top to me."

"Photo montage?" Ellen repeated, and Dean glanced at her. Maybe repeating things was a virus that was going around, like swine flu.

"Go look," Jo said, pointing.

Ellen went into the bathroom and came out a moment later with a bemused expression. "That's all yours?" she asked.

"Yup," Dean said. "The guys along the top of the mirror frame are my top suspects, the others are just for show. The guys at the bar call it my wall of hotties."

"The guys at the bar come over here?" Ellen asked.

"Martin threw me a house-warming party," Dean said, and he pointed at a plant in the corner. "It got to be . . . quite interesting before I wound up sending everyone home."

"How interesting?" Sam asked, glancing at the bed.

"No one used the bed, Sammy," Dean said, amused. "When did you get to be such a homophobe? I've had sex with girls in your bed before and you never complained."

"I didn't know you had sex with girls in my bed," Sam replied, eyes narrowing. "Why didn't you use your own bed?"

Dean shrugged. "Ellen, you and Jo need a shower?"

Ellen was actively chuckling at their little argument. "Jo, you go on ahead."

Jo was giving both Sam and Dean amused looks. She headed into the bathroom, and Dean hurried after her. "There are clean towels in that tote, there," he said, pointing.

"Thanks," she said, giving him an odd look.

"Did Sam offer you anything to drink, Ellen?" Dean asked, heading into the kitchen. "I've got some beer and soda, and there's always water."

"I'd love a beer," Ellen said, sitting down at the dining table with Sam. "Sam, tell me what you've found so far."

Dean was in the kitchen when Sam started talking, so he couldn't head him off when he brought up the subject Dean had avoided earlier. He listened, cringing, to Sam's apologetic admission that he had already uncovered this job, but had forgotten about it.

"When did this happen?" Ellen asked.

"Right before Cold Oak," Sam said.

Ellen started nodding. "So, let's see, it was right before you died, a door to Hell opened wide and let hundreds of demons out, and you found out your brother had sold his soul to bring you back to life. You forgot a job. Go figure."

"But I –" Sam stuttered to a stop, staring at her.

"Bobby says you spent that year desperately trying to find a way to save Dean from going to Hell. Shit happens, Sam. You accept it, you man up, and you move on." She shrugged. "That was a lesson your daddy never could learn."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, and Dean stared at her, hovering near the fridge, curious to hear her answer.

"Guilt over every mistake he ever made just ate John up inside," she replied. "That's why he never did come back to see me and Jo after bringing Bill's body back."

"I wouldn't have said that about Dad," Sam said. "He didn't exactly sit around and bemoan his mistakes."

Ellen snorted. "No, he acted like a complete ass," she said. Dean bit his lip, listening. "He turned his guilt over your mother's death into anger, like he did most things. I'm not saying he was wrong to go after the demon, or that he didn't need to keep moving to protect you boys. I saw signs of that when you were little. I'm just saying that when he felt guilty he tended to convert it into anger, even sometimes when it wasn't appropriate. He did that with Dean all the time. He felt guilty for putting so much weight on Dean's shoulders, and it manifested itself by him getting on Dean's case when he didn't live up to it."

Dean blinked, astonished by this angle on his father's behavior. "Beer," he said, handing it to Ellen. "So, we honestly aren't much forwarder," he said. "But, I figure that when Sam, with his puppy dog eyes and soulful manner, starts keeping bar, he's going to get people to open up in ways they didn't even know they could. We'll crack this thing wide open in no time."

"Why do you keep talking about my 'puppy dog eyes,' Dean?" Sam demanded irritably.

"When else did I mention it?" Dean asked.

"When we were trying to get that Hooters waitress to help us out with her Leticia Gore impression."

"Hooters?" Ellen asked mildly.

Dean shook his head. "It was a nutso situation, Ellen. Have you heard about those books by Carver Edlund?"

"The 'Supernatural' series?" Ellen asked with a wry grin. "Yeah, I've heard of them. I'm in them. The tough, mature but beautiful bar owner. Apparently, my voice is gravelly, and you, Dean, are afraid of me."

"You've read them?" Dean asked, exchanging an alarmed glance with Sam.

"Every last one," she replied, and Dean felt a flush rise from the collar of his shirt to his hairline as he remembered the sex scene from _Route 666_. "Actually, they've become something of a sensation in the hunter community."

Dean gaped at her, then he reached for his gun.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked.

"I'm gonna kill Chuck," he growled. "I'm gonna freakin' kill him!"

"Dean, calm down," Sam said.

"Calm down? Sam, I'm full frontal in that one book, and every mistake we ever made is on display for anyone to read about."

"I assumed the sex stuff was artistic license," Ellen said, tilting her head curiously, and Dean felt his flush deepen. "I take it I'm wrong?"

"Everything in those books really happened," Sam said. "Though sometimes there's a little . . . interpretation that doesn't fit."

"So you've read them?" Ellen asked.

"Most of them," Sam said, and Dean turned to look at him, startled. Sam shrugged. "After Becky told us about Bela giving the Colt to Crowley, I figured I'd better go through them with a fine-toothed comb, in case there was something else that Chuck didn't remember and that we missed on our quick pass through when we found them in the first place. Once I began to be able to concentrate, I started reading through them and taking notes."

"Taking notes?" Dean demanded, and Sam gave him an owlish blink. "On what? Technique?"

Sam's puzzled look converted to derision. "Yeah, well, I don't think our technique is remotely similar if the books are anything to go by."

"Really?" Ellen asked, and Dean watched Sam flush as he turned towards her.

"Um . . . what were we talking about?" he said, clearly hoping to get the conversation back on track, but Ellen wasn't having any of it.

"Your sexual technique."

Dean had heard the bathroom door open during Sam's desperate question, so he wasn't surprised when Jo spoke, but Sam about jumped out of his shoes. "What?" she exclaimed.

They all three turned to look at her, and Dean blinked. "Are those guys' pajamas?" he asked.

Jo plucked at the front of her blue pajama top and shrugged. "Yeah, so what?"

Dean turned to Sam. "What is it about girls in guy's clothing? They always look so cute."

Sam was staring at Jo, and he nodded. "Yeah, adorable."

Jo's eyes snapped with anger. "Whatever," she retorted. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"

Dean glanced at Ellen and saw that she was just shy of laughing. "You and your mom can have the bed," he said. "Sam has already proven that he can sleep on the couch, and I'll take the floor."

"Get some sleep, Jo," Ellen said. "Towels?"

"There's a tote in the bathroom," Dean said. "I think we're going to have to make a Laundromat run later on, Sammy."

"Oh, am I allowed out of the apartment?"

Dean shrugged, knowing it would infuriate his brother. "Sure, why wouldn't you be?"

Sam's eyes widened, but he controlled himself before he blurted out anything. Dean wondered if he'd realized that he was being baited, or if he just didn't want to air his dirty laundry in front of Jo.

"Want a beer before you go to sleep?" Dean asked.

Jo shook her head. "Just know one thing, if you take any pictures of me while I'm asleep, I will kill you later."

Dean snorted. "The thought never even occurred to me . . . until now."

Her eyes narrowed and she raised her finger at him. "Just remember."

"Good night, Jo," Sam said, and she sort of waved her hand as she headed to the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

When Ellen emerged from the bathroom, she found Dean still sitting at the dining room table, Sam out on the couch, and Jo out on the bed. "Go to sleep, Dean," she murmured, walking up to him.

"Soon," he said, nodding towards some blankets that were laid out on the floor.

"There's no pillow," she observed.

"Only got two," he said, gesturing towards the bed. "I'll use a couple of folded up towels or something." She raised her eyebrows. "I'm good, Ellen. It's not a problem."

She gave him a dubious look, but she went to bed. Jo shifted a little as she got in, but she didn't wake up. Ellen glanced one last time at Dean, sitting at the table and looking at the computer, then she rolled over on her side and composed herself for sleep.

Sometime in the early morning, she woke up, not sure what sound had brought her to consciousness, but certain that something had. A muffled whimper and some thrashing brought her to her feet, and then she realized that Dean was having some kind of nightmare. Sam was out and Jo hadn't stirred. She was apparently the only one who had noticed anything.

Her instinct as a mother and a human being was to go wake the dreaming man up, but she knew that would be foolhardy. Dean had been a hunter since the age of six or seven, and he'd been aware of danger since he was four. He might wake up ready to kill. Bill had more than once during the years of their marriage. Besides, Dean was a proud man. He would be deeply embarrassed if she woke him up.

She stood watching him for a long moment. The way he moved, she was sure he was remembering something horrible, but there wasn't a thing she could do for him without waking everyone up, and that would be unforgivable.

Instead, she rolled over in bed and tried to pretend she couldn't hear the noises he was making. Eventually, he quieted and she dropped off.

* * *

Sam was the first one up in the morning, and he decided to outdo Dean on the breakfast thing. The stew was past its expiration date, at least as far as Sam was concerned. He dumped the remainder into the trash, not wanting to run the garbage disposal while everyone was asleep. He pulled the eggs and the carton of milk out, mildly surprised that there was such a thing in Dean's fridge. He was scrambling the eggs and milk together when there was a sudden knocking on the door. He put the bowl on the counter and glanced up at the clock as he hurried to the door. It was past eleven, so most people would be justified in thinking they'd be awake by now, even the club guys.

He opened the door and before he could even speak, Martin walked straight in. Sam couldn't even say that he pushed past him, because the little man's charisma was such that Sam gave way before him without thinking about it. "Good morning, Dean-o, rise and shine and . . . oh dear!" He had come to a stop with a comical double take, looking at the bed. Ellen was sitting up straight, wearing a t-shirt that said _Smile when you say that_.

Jo rolled over, her hair in her face. "Is that someone we have to shoot?" she asked grumpily.

"No, Jo," Dean said. "Go back to sleep."

Jo flopped face down on the bed and seemed to follow Dean's instructions.

Sam belatedly shut the door and walked up to Martin. "I have your crock pot cleaned out and ready," he said, but Martin didn't seem to notice.

"What _has_ been going on here, Dean?" he asked. "Not one but two lovely ladies in your bed? Have you changed teams?"

Dean rolled his eyes and got up. "No, Martin, this is my Aunt Ellen and my cousin Jo. They showed up in the middle of the night last night."

Ellen had kicked out of the bed on the side away from Martin and was bent over. Sam thought she was trying to inconspicuously pull on a pair of pants.

"Martin, why don't you come into the kitchen?" Sam suggested, guiding the man with an arm around his shoulders. He managed to position him so that both Dean and Ellen could get up without exhibiting themselves to their impromptu guest. Actually all their guests were impromptu, now that he thought about it, but Ellen and Jo had a little more connection to their real world. Hell, even though Dean's identification of them as aunt and cousin was a lie, they felt like family.

"Did you enjoy the stew?" Martin asked.

"Very much," Sam said, handing him the newly cleaned crock pot. "Paul is a good cook."

"So, what brings you by on a Monday morning?" Dean asked.

Martin turned, and Sam was glad to see that both Dean and Ellen were decent now. "I wanted to know if you would take my shift on Thursday."

Dean's eyes went distant. "Thursday, I –"

"It's just that Paul arranged a really hot date for me, and that's the only night a reservation was available."

"No problem, Martin," Dean said. "Sam may need some moral support by then."

"Standing in for Jeff?" Martin replied, giving Sam a sympathetic look. "Too right. Well, tootles, boys, and Aunt Ellen. See you Wednesday, Dean-o."

He left and again, the apartment felt almost empty with him gone.

"I see why you couldn't say no," Ellen said, her voice sounding choked with laughter. Sam didn't quite get the joke, but Dean gave a self-deprecatory shrug. "He's a bit like a pocket whirlwind, isn't he?"

"You should see him in action at the club," Dean said.

"I'll bet," Ellen replied.

Jo showed up, looking bedraggled and less than her usual confident self. "Who was that?"

"Dean's boyfriend," Ellen said.

That woke Jo up instantly, which may have been Ellen's goal. "His what?"

"Ellen," Dean said in a soft, sad voice. "I told you, Martin's not interested in me. He's got Paul." Jo was giving Dean a wide-eyed look, which Sam could only put down to her being so muzzy with sleep. "Besides," Dean went on in his normal voice. "He's really not my type."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, and what is your type?" he asked, expecting some description of shapely femininity.

Dean tilted his head. "Martin's too 'little boy,'" he said. "I prefer someone a little more mature, a little more muscle, a few years on –"

"We are talking about a girl, right?" Jo demanded, sounding alarmed.

Dean shrugged. "I don't mind girls with muscle," he said, deflecting the question. "Not Miss Champion Body Builder muscle, but –"

"So, you aren't attracted to girls with real muscles?" Jo asked, clearly spoiling for a fight.

"That's not what I said," Dean replied. "I just don't like girls who look like they were carved out of granite to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger."

Jo's eyebrows went up. "Oh," she said blankly. "No, I don't like guys like that, either."

"Most of them are killing themselves on steroids, anyway, which doesn't do a hell of a lot for their sex drive." He shrugged. "But, no, I was talking about guys. I need a shower." With that, he left the kitchen and disappeared into the bathroom.

Silence filled the space. Jo didn't seem to know what to say, and Ellen was controlling laughter. Sam shook his head and turned back to his eggs. "At least he won't grow hair on his palms this time," he muttered.

"Sam, that's an old wives' tale," Ellen said.

Sam laughed a little. "Actually, I think in this case it was a middle-aged man's tale, the kid seemed to get most of his nonsense stuff from his father."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah," Jo said. "What are you talking about?"

Sam shrugged. "There was a kid we ran into – everything he believed was true came true within a certain radius of his house. An old guy killed another old guy with a joy buzzer, a girl scratched her brains out because of itching powder, a guy's face froze 'like that.'" He made air quotes for emphasis.

"Interesting."

"Are you saying that Dean . . ." Jo's voice trailed off.

"His palm was covered with hair, and he used my razor to shave it off."

Ellen lost control of her laughter at that point, and she had to hold onto the counter to keep herself upright. Jo turned an utterly appalled look on her mother, which just redoubled her mirth. Sam freed the bacon from the package and started heating up a skillet, ignoring them both.

Finally, Ellen took in a deep breath. "Oh my God, I needed that," she said, wiping her eyes.

The bathroom door opened and Dean emerged, wearing a towel around his hips with a t-shirt over it. He was completely dry. "Sorry, I forgot my stuff." He bent over and dug in his bag, abstracted a few things, then hurried back into the bathroom. The towel gapped behind him a bit, revealing his ass almost as much as concealing it.

Jo was frankly staring after him. She shook herself and turned back towards them, but she still looked slightly stunned. Sam cleared his throat. "I'm pretty sure he didn't do it on purpose."

"Huh?" Jo said, looking startled.

"God, I am so glad I'm not that young anymore," Ellen said, sounding almost offensively amused.

Sam started frying the bacon, studiously ignoring his guests.

After breakfast, Ellen said, "You know, I've been thinking, and I'm not sure it's the smartest thing to do to leave you two boys in this alone."

"We got it, Ellen," Dean said. "Sam's here to back me up now."

"But who's backing Sam up?" she asked, and Sam gave Dean a startled look. "I know that most of the victims have been gay men, but some of them have been straight guys who worked at or went to gay bars. Now we have one of each type in harm's way, and I don't find the thought that you back each other up very reassuring."

"Ellen, it's the way we've always done it," Dean said.

"Oh, and it's always worked out so great," Jo pointed out.

Dean sat up straight and gave Jo a glare. "Listen, newbie," he said.

"I've been hunting for more than two –"

Dean overrode her protest. "I've been hunting since I was nine. When you have a few more kills under your belt, we'll talk. For now, keep it to yourself."

When Jo started to expostulate, her mother spoke quietly. "JoAnna Beth," she said, and, looking rebellious, Jo stopped talking. "Dean, I'm not diminishing your abilities in any way. I just think it might be good for us to be around as a resource."

"I don't see a problem with that," Sam said. Dean glared at him, but Sam just met his gaze levelly.

"Dean, this is a long term hunt, we all know that," Ellen said. "But it's not like there aren't other hunts in the area."

"I know, but I can't really go after them," Dean muttered. "I think there's a poltergeist in the building across the way, but if I look into it, it will screw my cover but good. Same for Sammy."

"So we hang around, do those hunts, and we're here to back you up if you need it." Dean grimaced, but he didn't say anything. Ellen pursued her apparent advantage. "Besides, with what Sam's found out, it looks like this has been going on a lot longer than we thought, and on a considerably bigger scale."

"Really?" Jo asked. "What did he find?"

"I found this case two years ago, right before I died and Dean sold his soul and all of that," Sam said. "It got lost in . . . other stuff."

"You mean your attempts to save Dean?" Jo asked, raising her eyebrows, sounding completely unsurprised and remarkably unjudgy. "Okay, so what did you find?"

Sam laid it all out. Disappearances ranging back as far as fifteen years, consistent characteristics of victims, pattern of incidents, everything. When he was done, he sat back in his chair and waited for Ellen and Jo to comment. "So, now what?" he said after a moment when no one spoke.

"Now I need a beer," Dean said, getting up. "Anyone else?"

"Sure," Ellen said.

"Count me in." Jo leaned forward. "Can I see your spreadsheet?"

"Sure," Sam said, flipping the computer around. "I really meant where do we go from here?"

"Well, you need to head over to the club and get your reams of paperwork filled out, unless you want to wait to do that till Wednesday."

"Fine, Dean. Are you coming?"

"Hell no, I've already filled out all my paperwork. I do not need to watch you fill out yours."

"Do I need to know anything?" Sam asked. "So my history will match?"

"No history, you're not filling out an application. And I just used Bobby as my emergency number."

"Not me?"

"You were at Bobby's," Dean replied, shaking his head. "Go on, get cleaned up and go talk to Ted. I'll get cousin Jo to go to the laundromat with me."

"Cousin?" Jo repeated.

"That's what I told Martin. Cousin Jo and Aunt Ellen."

Sam stopped listening as he went into the bathroom to get cleaned up. Dean was back in full swing, bossing him around again. Sam didn't know what to do about it. His getting sick had clearly thrown them back to a different time, back when Dean bossed him around as automatically as breathing, and Sam obeyed because that was the way things were.

He showered and got dressed. He'd remembered to bring his clothes in with him, unlike his exhibitionist older brother. When he left the room, he found that Dean was having a serious talk with Ellen. "– really not a problem. A couple of nights would be fine, and I happen to know that the loft above ours is empty, and as of two days ago, my landlord was complaining that he couldn't find a tenant."

"We can find a motel, Dean. I don't want to put you or Sam out."

Sam recognized what was happening and put his two cents in. "I can handle the couch for another couple of nights," he said. Both Dean and Ellen turned to him as if they hadn't expected him to speak. "Anyway, I guess I'll head on over to Woody's. Should I go to the back entrance?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Call before you come back, I might need you to go to the store."

"Sure," Sam replied, a little puzzled by this shift away from overprotectiveness. "See you later." He headed out. His brother made no sense at all.

* * *

"How many antacids you need?" Ellen asked after Sam had closed the door. Dean gave her a startled look, and she laughed, shaking her head. "I know the look. I've worn it a time or two. Prom night, for one." Dean blinked, an odd look coming over his face. Ellen raised her eyebrows. "What's that look mean?" she asked, amused. "You picturing her in the dress?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I'm just imagining what would happen to some poor jerk who tried anything on her."

Ellen laughed quietly. They were keeping their voices down because Jo had gone back to bed. She'd spent far too many of the last seventy-two hours active, and she needed rest to heal. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you set Sam loose."

"I'm driving him crazy," Dean muttered, and Ellen put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know," she said, and she felt for him. "He seems well enough, honestly."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe so."

She gazed at him thoughtfully, then she went to the fridge and pulled out two beers, drawing Dean over to the table. "What's got you so bothered, Dean? Clearly there's something."

Dean grimaced, opening the beer and taking a swallow. "When we were kids, Sam was always as healthy as a horse, but when he did get sick, it was always the worst possible case of whatever it was that anyone had ever seen. And he never, never just got sick once. He'd get sick, and then he'd get over it, and then a week or so later, he'd be sick again."

Ellen nodded. "So, you're expecting a relapse?" she asked.

"Or an opportunistic bug, just waiting for someone weakened after a bout with something else." He shook his head. "I'm sure he'll be fine, but . . . hell, Ellen, I looked after him until he was old enough to look after himself, and then some. I don't think he gets it."

"It's like having a sibling and a child in one package," Ellen said, and Dean blinked at her. "My oldest sister was like that. Always half-mom and half-sis. Used to drive us other girls nuts."

"I didn't know you had sisters, Ellen," Dean said.

"There were three of us girls, and one boy. JoAnn, Bethany, and our brother Greg."

"JoAnna Beth?" Dean asked, a sympathetic look coming into his eyes.

Ellen nodded. "I always figured any boy we had would be Gregory, but it wasn't to be." She shrugged. "Bethany was the oldest, then me, then JoAnn, and then Greg." She smiled at the memory of her kin. She didn't have to think about what came later.

Tactfully, Dean didn't press her, though if she knew the boy, he was dying for more information. "Well, the landlord's name is Jerry," he said once it was clear she wasn't going to continue. "The barista downstairs should be able to tell you where to find him. He's usually in his office around now."

"I'll go look him up," she said. As she recalled, the place downstairs was a nightclub, not a coffee bar, but she'd take Dean's word for it. She left him in the apartment, settling down at his computer, and went outside. In the daylight, it was clear that this place, LOL or whatever, had twin functions. By day it was a coffee shop, by night it was a WiFi enabled hook up joint. She shook her head as she went inside. The barista was a young woman about Jo's age with pink hair and several tattoos that she couldn't possibly understand the meaning of. What some people would scrawl across their bodies sometimes appalled her, but she wasn't everybody's mother.

Jerry was indeed in his office, and the transaction was completed swiftly. They negotiated, and it went from requiring a week to clear the place out to a move in day of Wednesday. That left her and Jo enjoying the boys' hospitality for two more nights, but she supposed that if Sam and Dean were willing to put up with it, she could.

She trudged back up the stairs, reflecting that she was moving in yet one floor higher and sighed. Her bones were getting a little old for all this activity, though she had toughened up surprisingly quickly after teaming up with Jo.

Back in the apartment, Dean was on his computer, on what looked like a website. Ellen wandered over and peered at the screen. "Facebook?" she asked quietly, a grin quirking her lips.

"Yeah," Dean said, glancing up at her. "It's a site Sam and I set up to help us keep in touch with some of the civilians we've helped out in the past. Since the apocalypse started, it seemed like a good idea to see if any of them had noticed anything out of the ordinary, plus after investing so much time and energy in saving their asses, we'd really hate for their asses to get chewed off by something new because they didn't know how to reach someone to help them." He leaned back in his chair. "Sam habitually takes e-mail addresses, so tracking them down wasn't all that hard."

The photo was of Sam and Dean as little boys, Dean standing behind Sam, back when he was still taller than his brother. "You have that out where anyone can see it?"

"Hell, no," Dean said. "Got it locked up so only friends can see it, and Sam did some stuff to make it harder to find. No clue what, but that's the geek boy for you."

Ellen glanced down the photographs to the side of the posts Dean was perusing. Every single one was female, from what she could tell. One of the posts read _All quiet on the western front_. "Who's Rebecca?" she asked.

Dean snorted. "We saved her brother from going to prison for a murder committed by a shapeshifter," he said. "The cops blamed it on a drifter named Dean Winchester."

"Oh," Ellen said, raising her eyebrows.

"Fortunately, I'm dead these days. In fact, I've been declared dead a couple of times, quite apart from the time when I actually was dead." He blinked, looking thoughtful. "When I wasn't really declared dead. Or . . . I suppose Bobby declared me dead." His eyes flashed with wry humor. "He looked at me and said, 'yup, he's dead.'"

Ellen rolled his eyes. "You've just been saving that up, haven't you?"

"For months," Dean replied with a grin. "It's not like I can say it to either Bobby or Sam. They have no sense of humor whatsoever about that night."

"Shocking," Ellen said dryly.

Dean shrugged. "So, anyway, she and her brother went to college with Sammy, and she's doing some kind of graduate studies at Stanford, still."

"All girls, I see," Ellen observed, just to see if he'd rise to the bait.

Dean's brows knit and he scanned the page. "There are guys," he said defensively. He clicked on his friends list and said, "See, there's Evan Hudson, and Father ?."

"What did you save them from?"

"Hell and a ghost, respectively," Dean said. "Though in truth, the ghost wasn't threatening Father ? in any way, in fact, he was trying to help him."

Ellen stared at him. "Back up, Dean. Hell? You saved this Evan guy from Hell?"

"He'd made a deal," Dean said. "To save his wife's life, and we found out about it just in time for me to trick the crossroads demon into releasing him. So, we saved him from Hell."

"So you knew, when you made your deal, you knew exactly what you were getting into?" Ellen asked, keeping her tone as neutral as she could.

"Yeah," Dean said. "But I couldn't let Sammy die like that."

They were both silent for a long moment, but Ellen didn't like the mood Dean's expression seemed to indicate. She cleared her throat. "Why don't you invite me and Jo into your little club?" she suggested. "That way we can let you know what we're seeing around, and if we're closer to someone who needs help, we can pick up the slack."

Dean nodded slowly. "Sure. I didn't know you were on Facebook."

"I'm not, but I can be," Ellen replied. She grabbed the laptop that she and Jo shared. "Show me how."


	7. Chapter 7

After showing Ellen how Facebook worked, Dean returned to scanning his messages. Truth be told, Sam hadn't really been in favor of Dean's idea, but he'd collaborated to the extent of making it as secure as possible. Dean had been forced to raid Sam's computer for his list of e-mail addresses and phone numbers, and then had come the challenge of figuring out who they all belonged to.

When Ellen got up and went into the kitchen a while later, Dean blinked at the screen and realized that he'd been woolgathering. He'd never thought about it before, but he'd started wondering just how Ellen and Bill had gotten into hunting. Unlike Sammy, Dean had the sense not to ask such a personal question, but the sadness on Ellen's face when she'd talked about her siblings made him curious. And then there was the question of why Ellen's sister had been mama to them all.

He shook his head and sighed. His concentration appeared to be shot for today.

Ellen seemed to pick up on this, because she walked over with a small wallet-looking thing. "You want to see the prom dress?" she asked.

It took a second for Dean to make the connection to their earlier conversation, but when he did, he sat up and said, "Oh yeah! Lay it on me."

She flipped open the little wallet to a page she'd already marked with her finger and handed it to him. He blinked at it, a slow smile spreading across his face. She looked no more than fourteen, her hair tied up high on her head with curls on each side of her face. A close-fitting dress of midnight blue hung from spaghetti straps at her shoulders to an irregular hemline. The neckline was straight across, not least because she was pretty straight across. The image inspired unexpected feelings.

"My God, Ellen, she's adorable," he exclaimed.

"Who's adorable?" Jo asked, and they both looked up, startled. She'd clearly just gotten out of bed, and she didn't look thrilled to be awake. She walked up behind them and let out a shriek. "Mother!"

"What, honey?" Ellen said. "Dean was curious."

"Dean was curious about my prom photo?" Jo demanded.

"What's wrong, Jo?" Dean asked, though he thought he knew what the problem was. "You were adorable."

"I was not adorable in that dress," Jo retorted. "I was hot!"

Dean glanced up at Ellen, trying to control his amusement, but when he saw her face, he couldn't. He snickered and bit his lip when Jo made an offended sound. "I'm sorry, Jo, but you're like fourteen in this picture. Nobody's hot at fourteen." Something occurred to him. "Okay, nobody but Brooke Shields is hot at fourteen."

Jo's eyes had narrowed dangerously. "I was seventeen!" she growled. "Is there any Tylenol in this place?"

"In the medicine chest, over the sink," Dean said, glancing down at the picture again. When Jo disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, he glanced up at Ellen again. "A bit of late bloomer, was she?"

"She was, but the boy who took her, I don't even remember his name, he couldn't take his eyes off her, so she's not wrong, she was hot."

"Maybe I'd have thought so when I was that age, but she looks like a little kid to me now." He shook his head. "Suddenly I feel old."

"Oh, thirty's not old, Dean. You're just getting started."

"I thought the warranty expired at thirty."

Ellen chuckled. "It does."

"You don't see a contradiction there?" he asked, and she just laughed. His cell phone rang and he picked it up. "Yeah?"

"Ted's a bit of a lech, you know?" Sam said, and Dean felt his back straightening. "Do you need anything from –"

"Did he do something?" Dean demanded.

"What?" Sam asked. "No, nothing serious. He just insisted on double checking my chest to see if it was suitable and lacking in offensive tattoos or scars. Apparently the scar on my left bicep isn't offensive. Oh, and he was curious about the matching tattoos."

"Oh." Dean grimaced. "I didn't think about that. He must have found that odd."

"He's no longer convinced that we're brothers."

Dean blinked, startled. "Why doesn't he think we're brothers?"

"Actually, I think I persuaded him. I told him we lost a bet."

"Wait, you told him I got a tattoo because I lost a bet?"

"Yeah, Dean, it's better than saying that we have matching tattoos to ward off possession, don't you think?"

"I guess," Dean muttered.

"Do you need anything from the store?"

"Jo, Ellen, you guys need anything?" Dean asked, hoping they'd say no.

Jo started to say something, but Ellen overrode her. "If we need something, we can go out and get it later," she said.

Dean nodded. "We're good."

"Okay, I'm going to stop by a used bookstore," Sam said. "I'll be back in a couple of hours." With that, Sam hung up and Dean stared at the phone, grimacing. He was fine. He'd be fine. He needed to stop being so damned paranoid. Dean tucked the phone away and tried to pretend he wasn't worried about Sam.

"So, what are we doing for a place to stay?" Jo asked.

"I've gotten us the loft upstairs," Ellen replied. "We'll have to sort through a mountain of crap, but it's cheap, and we can move in on Wednesday."

Jo's eyebrows went up as her mother spoke. "Where are we staying till Wednesday, then?" she asked.

"Here," Ellen replied.

"Then we're definitely going to have to go shopping," Jo said. "All they've got to drink is beer and half of a half gallon of milk."

"You ready to go?" Ellen asked.

"Give me a couple of minutes." Jo grabbed a piece of paper off the table and started making a list, going through the cabinets. Dean found this mildly diverting, but he still couldn't stop thinking about Sammy going to some random used bookstore in less than 100 percent shape. So what if used bookstores weren't quite the hotbed of violence that, say, malls were at Christmas? Sam still needed back up if he was going off the beaten path in a city they didn't know.

"He slipped the leash, didn't he?" Ellen asked in an undertone, giving Dean a sympathetic look.

"Apparently he needs a book," Dean said, affecting nonchalance. "Go figure. The geek boy needs a book."

"He'll be fine, Dean," Ellen said reassuringly. Raising her voice, she turned to Jo. "I'll get my coat."

The rest of the day passed relatively peacefully. Dean heard people going upstairs and down again several times and assumed that things were being gotten ready for Ellen and Jo to move in. Sam was gone for three additional hours, which made Dean jittery, but when he got back, he was fine and dandy. He'd also picked up three or four books, Dean couldn't be sure which because he tucked all but one of them away quickly. Under a façade of teasing him over the purchase, Dean managed, somehow, to conceal the level of paranoia he'd experienced the whole time his brother was gone.

Ellen made pot roast for dinner, with potatoes, carrots and green beans. The next day Jo went out and found a job as a waiter at the HotSpot, another of the gay bars on their watch list. Over a dinner of leftovers, they discussed Ellen's prospects of getting a job at the third bar, The Metro.

"They didn't balk at hiring a woman?" Sam asked Jo.

Jo laughed. "If you're a good waiter, they don't care what your gender is, though Luke did ask me why I wanted to work at a gay bar. Said if I was looking for guys, I'd be out of luck, and that they didn't attract many of the girls who play that side of the field."

"What did you tell him?" Dean asked.

Shrugging, Jo said, "That a job was a job, but that I liked the idea of working at a place where I could be sure the guys all bathed regularly." She grinned. "He liked that."

"And have good fashion sense?" her mother asked, clearly amused.

"That doesn't hurt, either," Jo replied. "Besides, they're less likely to pat my ass."

"That's why I'm glad Sammy's behind the bar," Dean said with a grin. "He'd probably react like a startled virgin the first time one of the guys pinched him."

"Are you saying the guys pinch your butt in the bar?" Sam asked, looking upset. Dean shrugged, eying his brother dubiously. "And it doesn't bother you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's a compliment, Sammy. Now, if they do anything more than pinch, we will have words, but thus far it's never been a problem." A niggling memory of an incident in the basement gave lie to that, but even that hadn't really been an issue. And in all likelihood, it would never happen again. "When do you start, Jo?" he asked.

"Thursday," she replied.

"And tomorrow, I'll put my best foot forward and see what I can do about getting hired on at The Metro," Ellen said.

"Sounds like a plan," Dean said.

* * *

It had been more than five years since Sam had tended a bar, but some things, once learned, never fade. So he'd found with bartending. What he'd neglected to tell Dean – though not Ted – was that he'd been a semi-acrobatic bartender, flipping bottles into the air and catching them to pour, and that sort of thing. It required good hand eye coordination, extreme motor control and a clear sense of where other people and objects were in his space. All skills that were also vital to being a good – i.e. long living – hunter. Ted had told him that if he was impressed, Sam wouldn't have to wear the parrot, so Sam intended to impress.

From the moment they got into the car, Dean started spouting an insane babble of advice and reassurances about the job, as if Sam needed either. He let it slide in one ear and out the other, not precisely ignoring his brother, but paying minimal attention.

"And don't forget to pee on the toilet seat," Dean said.

This bizarre statement passed through Sam's head, then sank in. "What did you say?"

"I didn't think you were listening," Dean replied, glaring at him.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I was listening, but I don't need you to tell me how to act at a job. I'm the one who's had jobs, Dean."

"I've had jobs," Dean protested, and Sam shrugged. "Remember, your last couple of years of high school, I worked at garages all the time."

"When Dad wasn't dragging you off to hunt and making you miss work," Sam replied. "Dean, you never held a job for more than a few weeks – at least not that I know of."

Dean turned on the music, and Sam knew he'd annoyed his brother. He sighed and looked out the window.

At the club, Dean walked in and stuffed his coat into his locker without saying anything. Sam followed at a more sedate pace and put his jacket away. He felt stupid and conspicuous with his chest on display, but the tanning stuff had at least made his farmer tan stand out a bit less.

"You must be Sam." The voice came from behind him, and Sam turned around to greet the guy with the parrot on his shoulder. "I'm Jeff. Let's get you familiar with the bar."

Sam glanced at Dean, who studiously avoided his eyes, and followed Jeff. "Are you guys all ready?" he asked. Jeff looked curiously at him. "For the baby?"

A grin made Jeff's face light up. "Oh yeah, Steven and I are all ready, thanks in part to your brother. He's really handy with a hammer."

And a machete, and a Colt 1911, Sam thought, but didn't say. "Dean likes to help out," he said neutrally.

"He's a good guy." Jeff pursed his lips. "I hope he meets the right man soon, he seems really broken up over his last relationship."

"Broken up?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah. The guy needs to let it go. Someone needs to set him straight." Sam heard a familiar ring tone and looked up to see Dean picking up his phone. His eyes widened and he answered, rolling his eyes. "See, I bet that's him again," Jeff said. "He calls at least once a day, sometimes twice."

Sam felt completely lost, and he didn't like the feeling. He didn't know who Jeff was talking about, and he had no idea who might be calling so often. Fortunately for their cover, Ted walked up at that moment. "So, beanpole, you promised some mighty fine tricks. Show me your stuff."

Sam nodded and stepped behind the bar. Jeff got out of the way, and Sam made three drinks in a row, rapidly, swinging and tossing the bottles around, then serving them to three different seats at the bar. When he was done, he discovered that he had the attention of everyone there, including Dean, who was staring with his jaw dropped.

"Okay, you can skip the parrot," Ted said, looking extremely impressed, and Jeff swallowed, looking nervous. Sam figured he'd better let the guy know that they were definitely only here for the short term.

The doors opened at nine, and things got pretty busy pretty fast. Sam and Jeff worked together without friction – and with less anxiety once Sam had made it clear that he really wasn't interested in a long term job.

Dean regularly came to get his orders filled. Sam never knew that Dean had such a memory for random drinks. He applied the finishing touches and whisked them away to the customers, wending his way easily among them. Sam watched him surreptitiously all evening, amazed by how well he fit in. He shouldn't be. Dean could fit in just about anywhere. He'd certainly looked and acted the part as Dean Smith, Director of Sales and Marketing. Now he was Dean-o, gay waiter and general all-around hot guy. Or Little D as some of the guys called him.

"Why Little D?" Sam asked.

"You'll meet Big D tomorrow night," Jeff replied. "Trust me, Dean is little compared to David. Shorter and smaller." Jeff looked thoughtfully at Sam. "I'm not sure if David's taller than you, but he's definitely bigger."

Sam found this to be alarming news. There weren't a whole lot of people his height who were also big. "Bouncer?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. He keeps the peace by looking scary, but he's really a teddy bear."

Sam nodded, but at that moment a man in an extremely shiny and purple shirt summoned him to make a Mai Tai. Work consumed them both for a while, and Sam fell back into the swing of working the bar. Every once in a while someone would ask for something he was unfamiliar with, but Jeff just shared his recipes and they kept it going. It was kind of nice, being part of something ordinary again.

* * *

Dean hadn't had any idea that Sam could do extreme bartending. He took the surprised compliments from his fellow waiters with aplomb and watched Sammy's antics out of the corner of his eye. Towards the end of the evening, he went downstairs to get a couple of cases of beer. They were running low. It would probably last out the night, but they needed to get more on ice as soon as possible.

The first basement room contained the stock of ordinary, non-controlled substances. Pretzels, peanuts, tortilla chips, cheese, and stuff like that. There was a door across from the stairs that led into the locked storage for alcohol. Dean had already snagged the key from Ted, so he unlocked the door and pocketed the key. Following the procedure he'd been taught, he propped the door open with a roll of paper towels kept handy for that purpose. It made it easier to carry heavy objects out alone, and the door didn't always open from the inside if fell shut. It locked automatically from the outside, which could make escape challenging when there was only one key on the premises, as was the case tonight.

Some bozo had put crates of wine on top of the cases of beer, so Dean had to shift those over to their proper place before he could get what he needed. He was making so much noise himself that he didn't notice anything going on behind him until he heard the door shut firmly.

He turned around, startled by the sound of the latch seating itself, and saw the man from Sunday night. Today he was wearing a blue denim shirt over a darker blue crewneck shirt, but his eyes were just as hot and focused on Dean.

"Dude, you're not supposed to be down here," Dean said. He was holding a case of wine in his hands, so he turned to put it down. While his back was turned, the stranger crossed the distance between them, because Dean suddenly found the man close up behind him, so close that he couldn't turn around. He'd have to slide sideways to get away from the intimate contact. "Back off," Dean said, and he meant it to sound challenging. The words ended on a squeak that sounded anything but authoritative when the man bit down on his ear. His teeth were gentle, and his tongue was deft. A pleasurable sensation started in Dean's groin, but he knew he had to put a stop to this.

He wasn't in the best of all possible positions. The pile of beer cases came up to just below his crotch, so he had no leverage from the waist up. Dean felt a frisson of alarm pass through him as he remembered how pushy the man had been the last time they'd met. He hadn't figured it would happen again. "Hey, guy," he said, preparing to tell the man to get off him.

"Hush," came a whispered response. The man's breath tickled against Dean's ear, and Dean shivered a little. Warm lips touched Dean's neck, and then his tongue tasted Dean's skin.

An erotic tingle zinged from his neck to his groin, and Dean took in a deep breath to tell the guy to stop what he was doing. Before Dean could speak, though, the stranger put his right arm around Dean's waist, clamping his right arm to his side. He seized Dean's left wrist in his right hand, effectively immobilizing Dean's arms. At the same moment, he covered Dean's mouth with his left hand. Dean struggled briefly, but the dude was strong. And all the while, the guy just kept kissing and licking and gently biting Dean's neck. It felt great, and that feeling was making Dean's desire to get away wane.

After a few moments, the man dropped his left hand from Dean's mouth to his chest, which was still largely bared by the piratical shirt he wore. Still nibbling on Dean's neck, shoulders and ears, he began to stroke Dean's chest, slipping his hand under the fabric when necessary.

This was way more than a forceful kiss against a wall. Dean knew he should put a stop to it, but his body was loving the stimulation. The gentle caresses on his chest stayed away from his nipples, remaining soft, almost feathery. Dean felt himself lean towards the hand to intensify the touch. A chuckle from the stranger vibrated against Dean's skin, and he flushed. He didn't understand what the hell was going on or his reaction to it. He began to struggle again, but he couldn't sustain the effort when the fingers of the man's left hand found a nipple and began to massage it. Dean groaned softly, and he realized that he had tilted his head to give the man better access to his neck.

"What – why –" Dean turned his head as he started to speak, and the man leaned in and bit Dean's lip. Their eyes met in a searing look, and when the man kissed him, Dean didn't resist. In fact, he began to kiss back, growing gradually more fervent. He could feel a pressure growing against his buttocks, and knew the man was getting hard. Dean's own dick was aching inside the confines of his tight jeans. For long moments, Dean thought of nothing more than the giving and receiving of pleasure, and in a strange way, the control his companion was exerting over him added to his arousal.

A part of his mind told him that something was very wrong, and that he needed to stop what was happening to him, but that part of his mind dimmed and faded from his attention as the sexual energy between him and the stranger continued to heat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments. Just so you know. Comments make me very happy. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Sam hadn't seen Dean in quite a while, and he found that odd. All evening, he'd seen his brother weaving in and out among the tables, taking photos and serving drinks, but as the waiters started reminding people that they'd have to stop serving alcohol in twenty minutes, he realized that he hadn't seen Dean in at least half an hour.

A rush of last minute orders came in and distracted him.

* * *

The man released Dean without warning and stepped back. Off balance, Dean stumbled forward and caught himself on the cases of beer. He turned around, not sure whether to sock the guy or invite him back to . . . someplace private. The punch was winning, but when he turned, the stranger stepped inside his swinging arm. One hand took Dean's shoulder firmly, the other cupped his left cheek. Latinate words poured out of the man's mouth, fading in Dean's memory even as they were spoken.

_Son of a bitch. It's not a shapeshifter, it's a witch, and he's latched onto . . ._

Dean kicked the door and checked his phone again, aware that if he hadn't had reception the last five times he'd checked, he wouldn't have it now. His hand was shaking as he looked at the phone, and he forced it still. If he was getting sick, he was kicking Sam's ass from here back to Bobby's. He pounded and yelled, and finally, he heard a voice on the other side.

"Dean?"

Dean closed his eyes. He'd have been teased by everyone if one of the other waiters had found him, but somehow, having it be Sam was not better. "Get this door open, Sasquatch!" Dean growled, and within a few moments, the doorknob turned and Dean was out of the alcohol room. He found himself by the stairs before he knew he'd moved.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked anxiously.

Dean shrugged. "Fine," he said. Claustrophobia? It almost had to be. Ever since waking up in a coffin, he'd had more than a touch of it. He must not have noticed how bad it had gotten till he was loose. Maybe that was why he'd been shaking. Gulping, he walked over and grabbed the door. "Here, I'll hold it open while you go grab a couple of cases of beer."

Sam was still giving him a worried look, but Dean figured he could manage whatever was bugging him for himself. "You shut yourself in?" Sam asked.

"I must have forgotten to block the door," Dean said. "And it doesn't always open right from the inside."

Sam looked at the door, looked at Dean, then shook his head. "Are you –"

Irritation surged. "Dude, would you just get the beer?"

"Why didn't you call?"

"Like you would have heard me in the bar anyway."

"On the cell, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, waving his fancy-ass phone in Dean's face. "It's on vibrate, I would have gotten the call."

"No bars," Dean said.

Sam looked at his own phone. "I've got bars."

"The door's not closed," Dean replied.

"So close the door. You've got the key, right?"

"Sam, grab the beer and let's go upstairs. I've been down here long enough."

"Dean, something seems not right," Sam said. "You're edgy, and being locked in just doesn't account for it."

"You ever wake up in a coffin under six feet of dirt?" Dean snapped, and Sam's eyes widened. "Or did you think Cas popped me into existence above ground? Cuz that would have been helpful. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, as a rescue it was great, but apparently he had to drop me where I actually was."

Sam shook his head, looking appalled. "In the coffin?"

"Did I mention that there were worms in the coffin with me?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows at him.

"You didn't even mention that you woke up buried alive," Sam said, his expression troubled.

"How'd you think my hands got all macked up?" Sam just shook his head again. Before Dean could change the subject, his phone rang. He looked down at the caller ID and rolled his eyes. Flipping it open, he said, "Cas, nothing has changed since you called me seven hours ago except that I managed to lock myself into a storage room and spent several hours doing nothing."

"Did you know that the city you are living in is the home of a fundamentalist religious sect?" Castiel demanded.

Dean blinked. "What?" he exclaimed. "Wait, do you mean the Mormons?"

"Yes."

"There are Mormons everywhere, Cas."

"You were the one who said we should avoid religious fanatics."

"I'm not hanging out in that part of town, Cas. Don't worry about it."

"How is Sam?"

"Here, why don't you talk to him?" Dean forced the phone onto his reluctant brother and listened to the Sam side of the uncomfortable conversation with grim amusement.

"No, Cas, I'm good." Sam's eyebrows went up. "Yeah, I'm over the pig disease." He shook his head. "No, it wasn't fun. Wiped?" Sam gave Dean a wide-eyed look, and Dean shrugged. "A little, but I'm getting better. Thanks. Take –" Sam closed the phone. "He's gone. Cute way to get rid of him."

"Don't knock it, it worked."

"Is he the one who's been calling you so much?"

"The one?" Dean repeated. "What do you mean?"

"I've heard from three of the guys tonight that you have an ex who's stalking you by calling you all the time. Is it Cas?"

"Cas and me have never had a thing, Sammy," Dean said, deflecting purely for the humor value of it.

"Dean?!"

"Yeah, I had to explain all the calls somehow, and Martin came up with the explanation for me. All I had to do was agree. Grab the beer, Sammy, or they'll think we're getting busy down here."

"They know we're brothers, Dean."

"Yeah, but do they believe it? That's the real question." He gestured with his head and Sam finally got going.

By the time they got back to the apartment, Ellen had prepared them a midnight meal. Dean was ready to kiss her, but he just smiled and said, "Ellen, I think I love you." She grinned at him and rolled her eyes.

Sam was on his way towards the shower, but Dean wasn't having that. He dodged past his brother and slipped through the door, slamming it in Sam's face. He heard irate grumbling from outside, but he ignored it, climbing into the shower and running the water as hot as he could stand. He felt filthy for some reason that he couldn't quite grasp, and he found himself scrubbing at his neck till his skin started to hurt.

He made himself stop and started washing his hair. Suddenly, while his eyes were closed and covered with suds, the hot water went away, leaving him in a frigid spray.

* * *

Ellen wasn't sure what Sam was doing, turning on the hot water and just running it. Not until she heard Dean let out an ear-piercing shriek. Sam turned off the water then. Ellen shook her head. "Do you feel better now?"

Sam looked briefly thoughtful. "Yeah, yeah I do."

"Are you two boys ever going to grow up?" Ellen asked.

Jo laughed at her. "Mom, this is grown up for guys, I thought you knew that."

Ellen sighed, shaking her head. "You hungry, Sam?"

"Is there any chance that I could eat it all before Dean comes out?" Sam asked, peering at what she was making.

"Not and keep your girlish figure," Ellen replied. "Behave yourself."

Sam sat down at the table. "Dean disappeared for half the night tonight," he said.

Both Ellen and Jo turned to stare at him. "He did what?" Ellen asked.

"He locked himself into the storeroom in the basement, but I had started to get pretty worried before someone told me he'd gone down to get a couple cases of beer." Sam snorted. "Which I ended up carrying upstairs, come to think of it."

"How'd he lock himself in?"

"I was an idiot," Dean said, coming back. "Thanks for that, Sammy. I'll have to find some more itching powder for you."

"Or you could have let me have the first shower," Sam said, getting up.

Dean shook his head. "I needed to get clean," he replied. Sam shrugged and headed towards the bathroom, but the tone of Dean's voice bothered Ellen. And the way he sort of stared off into nothing.

"Did someone spill something on you?" Jo asked.

"Huh?" Dean shook himself. "No, I just . . . I just wanted to be clean. Biscuits and gravy." He groaned with pleasure and served himself. Ellen watched him, but after that brief moment of distance, he was pretty much normal. Of course, she was no expert on the long term effects of a visit to Hell. She'd just have to keep an eye out.

The boys went to bed shortly after eating, and Jo wasn't far behind them. Ellen picked up the kitchen and put the food away before lying down herself.

This time she knew exactly what had awakened her. She sat bolt upright and looked towards Dean, who was writhing in his sleep. That wasn't what alarmed her, though. There was a man kneeling beside him, a man she didn't know. He looked kind of like a businessman who'd had a hard day. His hair was dark, and while she watched, he extended two fingers towards Dean's forehead. When the fingertips touched Dean, the nightmare induced tension drained away, and Dean rolled over on his side, hugging the pillow that Jo had insisted on picking up for him. The man drew away to stand by Dean's feet, seeming to watch him sleep.

A suspicion was growing in Ellen's mind. She grabbed her robe and pulled it on. He looked up when she approached. "Are you Castiel?" she asked.

"I am," he replied. "And you are Ellen Harvelle."

"What did you just do to Dean?"

"Nothing harmful," the angel said, and Ellen could not believe that she was standing in a loft apartment in Salt Lake City wearing a tatty old bathrobe and conversing with an angel.

When Castiel said no more, Ellen pursed her lips. "But what did you do?" He just looked at her blankly, and Ellen bent down to check on Dean. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

"Do not awaken him," Castiel said, a hint of reproach in his tone.

"What did you do?" she asked again, looking up at him sternly. He looked away. "You got rid of the nightmare, didn't you?" Castiel met her eyes briefly, and she knew she was right. "You do that a lot?" she asked.

He shrugged. "When I can. There are other calls on my time."

"That's a gift, what you just did," Ellen said, thinking of Bill's nightmares. "A real gift."

Castiel made a strange, negating gesture with his hand. "Now that I am cut off from Heaven, my powers are severely limited, but I have enough to do this."

Ellen had heard vaguely, via the telephone game, that the angel who had helped Dean was outcast. She gave him an encouraging smile. "You'll get your powers back."

Castiel met her eyes levelly. "I will most likely not survive the Apocalypse."

Ellen snorted. "That's true of most of us," she said wryly.

"True," Castiel replied, his voice calm and resigned.

"You're a glass half empty kind of guy, aren't you?" Ellen asked.

Castiel blinked at her. "I do not understand."

She shrugged. "I just called you a pessimist." His expression grew, if anything, more puzzled. "You know the old saw – or maybe you don't." He waited, his face an unmoving mask. She sighed. "A pessimist looks at a glass with water in it up to the halfway point and sees a glass that's half empty while an optimist sees it half full."

"Both are equally true," Castiel observed.

"Yes, but it's a matter of perspective. Which side of things do you see, the positive or the negative?"

Castiel nodded slowly. "I see." He tilted his head. "Is Dean a glass half empty or a glass half full kind of guy?" His whole demeanor spoke loudly of his lack of human socialization, and the way his words came out made it clear that he was not altogether comfortable with them.

"It varies wildly with his mood," Ellen said with a sigh, glancing down at the boy. She looked across at his younger brother, all folded up on the couch. "Sam, though, he's a glass half empty these days. Didn't use to be, but he is now."

Castiel turned and looked at Sam, too. "He is tormented by guilt, a human emotion that I wish I did not understand."

"What do you have to feel guilty for?" she asked sympathetically.

"My part in starting the Apocalypse," he replied. Ellen tilted her head, startled by the notion that the angel who had saved Dean from Hell believed he had a part in starting the end of days. "It was I who freed Sam from the prison Dean had put him in to break him of the demon taint he had taken on himself. If I had not done that, Sam could not have killed Lilith, and the Apocalypse might have been averted."

"I didn't know that," Ellen said.

"Dean has forgiven me, and when he has forgiven a wrong, he does not bring it up again."

"What about Sam?" she asked, glancing over again. "Has he forgiven you?"

"He takes the blame entirely on himself," Castiel said, and Ellen nodded. Just like a Winchester. "As he should," the angel added.

"But I just heard you say you bore some responsibility for it," Ellen said.

"I do," Castiel replied. "But Sam finds it too easy to justify his actions for reasons of love or loyalty or honor or vengeance, regardless of the morality of the actions themselves."

Ellen sighed. "He's a lot like his father," she said, nodding.

"I never met John Winchester," Castiel said. "Though I observed him for years. Sam is very like him."

"You watched John?" Ellen repeated, startled.

"Yes."

"And the boys?"

"Dean," Castiel said.

This specificity seemed important. "Dean, but not Sam?"

"I have watched Dean since his conception in his mother's womb."

Astonished and alarmed by this information, Ellen took refuge in inanity. "That must have been pretty boring for the first nine months."

Castiel's head tilted, bird-like. "Actually, I found it fascinating."

He could not possibly mean that watching Mary waddle had been that interesting. She shook her head. "Do you mean . . . could you see inside?"

"Yes," Castiel said. "Dean was most energetic. His mother seemed surprised when he began kicking."

"We all are," Ellen said with feeling. "Getting kicked in the bladder by something inside you is damned startling." Castiel appeared to consider this and accept it. He was a little difficult to read, but she thought she was getting the hang of it. "So, you've seen me before?" she asked.

"I was there when you first met Dean," he replied.

Ellen smiled at that memory. A goofy-looking kid, so quiet and attentive to his tiny brother. "He was a cute little tyke."

Castiel was silent for a moment. "I do not feel qualified to judge 'cuteness,'" he said finally.

She had a feeling there were a lot of things – ordinary human things – that Castiel didn't feel qualified for. If she knew Dean, he was working on changing that. "What, you have no basis for comparison?" she asked. He nodded. "Go to a daycare. You'll see lots of children."

"Most of the children I have met since taking this vessel have been . . ." He paused, pondering. "Dangerous," he said finally. "Troublesome . . . alarming . . ."

"Really?"

"I am not altogether comfortable with them."

"It's just a lack of experience," Ellen said. "Children are scary creatures. So much potential, so much energy, and no brakes, but after you spend enough time with them, you adjust."

"I do not know if that is possible," Castiel said.

"Well, you spent time with both Sam and Dean when they were little," she said.

"That was . . . different," Castiel said. "I did not interact, and my observations were not focused on their development."

Ellen nodded. "Well, take it from me, then, he was a cute little tyke."

"I have noticed that women find him attractive."

"They'd have to be blind not to," Ellen said.

This Castiel seemed to consider and dismiss. "Be wary," he said after a moment.

"Wary of what?" Ellen asked, alarmed.

Castiel's forehead wrinkled. "I do not know," he said, sounding frustrated. "I have . . . a bad feeling."

An angel having a bad feeling sounded ominous to Ellen. "Have you told him?"

"I suspect it would make him more careless rather than less. I have noticed this tendency in him, and I do not understand it."

"So instead you've been calling him regularly," Ellen observed, glancing down at Dean. There was an odd sound of wings beating, and when she looked up, Castiel was gone. Sighing, she used the john and went back to bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean woke up feeling unusually rested. Unsurprisingly, Sam was up before him. Dean hated mornings, but his baby brother had always loved them. It had sucked when they were kids and it was Dean's job to watch him. His little brother, up with the larks. He'd been grateful when Sam had reached twelve, and had been officially declared old enough to look after himself for an hour or two in the morning while Dean got some much needed sleep.

One perk of that had been waking up to breakfast. That also had not changed, even if breakfast was coming closer to noon than to dawn. He stretched and got to his feet, taking a couple of minutes to heap his blankets up by the end of the couch. Jo had come back from her job hunt with a pillow, which was actually kind of nice of her. He dropped it on top of the pile and went into the kitchen.

Sam had fixed sausage, toast and he was in the middle of scrambling eggs. He looked up as Dean entered the kitchen and grinned. "I told you the smell alone would wake him," he said to Jo, who was sitting on the counter.

"So, his appetite is his driving force, huh?" Jo said, her eyes twinkling. "That's good to know."

"All his appetites," Sam said, giving Dean an amused look. Dean grabbed a plate and started loading it up. "Hey, Dean, leave some for the rest of us!" Sam exclaimed.

"Gotta feed my appetite," Dean said. "Those eggs almost ready?"

Rolling his eyes, Sam tilted the skillet over Dean's proffered plate and deposited some scrambled eggs. Dean walked over to the table and sat down.

"How'd you sleep?" Sam asked in an overly casual voice. Great, now they were back to that. Sam seemed to think he needed to take care of his older brother, but that just wasn't how things worked.

"Like a baby," Dean replied as always, but for once it was true. "You?"

"Not bad," Sam said, shrugging. "We going to get a second bed, or are you going to be back to kicking me all night once Ellen and Jo move out?"

"It's warmer if we share," Dean said. "Besides, where would we put another bed?"

"So, I get to be black and blue," Sam groused.

"Suck it up, Sasquatch. You used to do a number on me when you were little."

"Don't start, Dean."

"You brought it up."

Jo came over to sit down at the table. "Be quiet, my mom's still asleep."

Dean shrugged and gave Sam an unrepentant look before focusing on his food. "You start work tonight, right, Jo?"

"Yup, and I've got a much classier uniform than you guys do," she said.

"No plunging necklines?" Dean asked, gesturing towards his own chest in a deep V and waggling his eyebrows.

"What happened to your wrist?" Jo asked.

Dean looked down at the hand he'd used to gesture and blinked at the dark smudge that encircled it. He put pressure on it gently and hissed. "Looks like a bruise."

"Looks like?" Sam asked, striding across to the table. "You don't remember?"

Dean glanced up at his brother irritably. "I probably bumped it on something."

"Let me see," Sam demanded, reaching for Dean's hand.

Dean got up, tossing his silverware down. "Dude, we are so not holding hands," he growled, walking away to the bathroom.

* * *

Sam went back to the stove. He'd known better. Fussing always wound up pissing Dean off. When his brother emerged from the bathroom, he muttered something about checking on a lead and left the apartment before Sam could catch him. By the time Sam got downstairs, Dean was already driving away in the Impala.

He walked slowly back up to the apartment, shaking his head. Why did Dean have to be so touchy? When he got upstairs, he found Ellen up and eating breakfast. Jo was cleaning her gun, but she looked up when Sam came in. "What's up?" she asked.

"Up?" Sam repeated, aiming for nonchalance. He headed into the kitchen and started cleaning up the mess from breakfast. "You need anything, Ellen?" he asked without turning around.

"I'm good," she said, so he packed away the bread and put the package of sausages in a zipper bag before stowing them in the fridge.

"Sam?" Jo said, and he glanced over at her. She'd placed her gun and cleaning tools carefully on the coffee table, and now she stood at the end of the kitchen counter, her arms crossed. "That was a pretty big reaction."

"I don't know what you mean," Sam replied. He turned back and put the eggs in the fridge before wetting a wad of paper towels to wipe down the counters.

"Sam, you just lit out of here like there were hellhounds on your tail," Jo replied. "All because Dean had a bruise he didn't remember?"

"JoAnna Beth?" Ellen said, a mild chiding note in her voice.

"Dean's reaction was pretty big, too," Jo added, turning towards her mother.

"It's probably not any of our business," Ellen said, giving Sam a look that told him plainly that he'd better be sure it wasn't their business if he wasn't planning on sharing.

"Brother stuff," he said unconvincingly. "And something's just . . . I don't know, bugging me. I can't put my finger on why."

"About what?" Ellen asked.

"About Dean." He pursed his lips, not sure he should tell them about how Cas seemed to be calling all the time.

"You're not the only one," Ellen said, and Sam looked up, startled. "Did you know that Castiel came visiting at night sometimes?" she asked.

"You mean the angel?" Jo asked. "The one who saved Dean from Hell?"

"One and the same," Ellen replied.

"I didn't know you'd met Cas," Sam said, his brows drawn together.

"Just last night," Ellen said.

Sam blinked at her, enlightened. "He was here last night?"

Ellen tilted her head. "How often does he come?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't always wake up," he said.

"You have an angel watching over you?" Jo asked incredulously.

Sam shook his head. "Nope." Ellen raised her eyebrows, and Jo gave him a challenging look. "He watches over Dean. I'm just there."

"Why?"

"It's the nightmares, isn't it?" Ellen asked.

"I don't know for sure," Sam said. "I just know that on the nights when I see Cas, Dean invariably gets better rest."

"Does Dean know?"

"Hell, no," Sam said with feeling. "He'd freak out if he knew Cas was watching him that close. He hates being fussed over." He looked at Ellen, remembering how the subject of Castiel had come up. "What did you mean, I'm not the only one?"

"Castiel said he had a bad feeling," Ellen said.

Sam found that more than a little alarming. "Is that why he's been calling?"

"That's what he said," Ellen replied.

"Let me get this straight," Jo asked. "An _angel_ has a bad feeling?" Her mother nodded. "And you're just now bringing it up?"

"I only just got up, Jo," Ellen said mildly.

"But you heard it last night?" Ellen shrugged agreeably. "And you didn't wake anyone?" Ellen didn't respond, but the question didn't really seem to call for a response. Obviously she hadn't. "Does Dean know?"

"I sincerely doubt it," Sam said.

"Castiel said he didn't want to tell Dean because it might make him more careless rather than less."

Sam shook his head, a wry grin twisting his lips. "That's Dean, all right."

"Doesn't anyone here think Dean deserves to know that an angel is worried about him?"

"Oh, I think he's picked up on it, Jo," Sam said.

"Oh yeah?" she demanded.

"He calls two or three times a day." He shook his head. "Anyway, do you guys need help clearing out the mess upstairs?"

"We could use a bit," Ellen said.

"What about Dean? He's out there on his own."

"Dean has been taking care of himself for a good twenty years and more," Ellen replied, putting her hand on Jo's shoulder. "Come on, let's get some work done."

* * *

Dean had stopped by the places of a couple of guys, playing the part of the gay waiter to the hilt, making sure that anyone observing him would see nothing out of line with the role he was playing. He did have a couple of things he wanted to check up on, but he pulled off the road into the parking lot of a diner and stopped, sitting for a minute and looking at his left wrist. The mark there kind of freaked him out, and he didn't know why. It wasn't like he hadn't gotten bruises that he didn't remember before. Kind of went with the gig. Something about it bugged him, though.

For one thing, he was having trouble thinking of an unnoticeable way for it to happen. Something he could have missed because he was thinking about something else. Bumps against tables and chairs, sure, he had little bruises all over from that kind of thing, and there was no reason for him to notice any one in particular. But this bruise encircled his wrist, darker over the bones and on the inside, like . . . he shook his head, put the car in gear and got moving again. Places to go, people to talk to.

There was an organization locally that was maintaining records of missing gay men and lobbying the police about it. Checking with them was safer than visiting the police station, so he'd concocted a missing friend to ask them about regularly. They'd dutifully added the fictitious guy to their list and were looking for him.

After he'd left them, though, he figured he might as well go back to the apartment. He was surprised that Sam hadn't called, but when he checked his phone he found that his brother had called, and so had Cas. The angel had called twice, but he'd bumped the buttons on his phone or something, and switched it to silent mode. He called Sam, who just wanted to know if he could pick up some paper towels on his way back. A made-up excuse if Dean had ever heard one. Dean decided to call Cas later. Having his very own renegade angel was kind of cool, but at the moment he was acting like a sixteen-year-old girlfriend or something. Calling to chat didn't work when a guy didn't know how to chat.

Dean went to the grocery store and grabbed an eight pack of paper towels, a couple of packages of ground beef and some hamburger buns. When he came out, there was a strange man leaning against the rear of the Impala. He looked about Sam's age, with close cut blond hair and freckles, maybe five foot nine, but solidly built. There was an air of challenge in his eyes, like he thought he had something to prove.

Dean straightened slightly. "Can I help you?" he asked, his voice hard.

"You Dean?" the man asked.

"Who wants to know?"

"I do." The man stood up, and Dean's eyes searched the paintwork where his butt had rested for any sign of damage. "I've heard interesting things about you and wanted to see if they were true."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh God, you're not one of Zachariah's idiot minions, are you?" he demanded. "Because I'm so not in the mood."

"I don't give a damn what mood you're in," the guy said, walking towards him. "Let me get a look at this butch faggot."

Dean turned his back on the idiot, digging his key out of his pocket. He expected an attack, so he was ready for it when he felt movement behind him. What he hadn't been expecting was the knife. Dropping the bags, he dodged the descending blade and caught the bastard by the wrist. A sharp twist made the knife go flying, and Dean kept half an eye out to see where it landed. It skittered under the car, which put it out of serious contention, so he focused on teaching his would be attacker a lesson.

He took a couple of blows, one to the face, one to the midsection, but by the time the cops showed up, his opponent had definitely taken the worst of the fight.

"Break it up!"

Dean turned around, half-expecting to be cuffed and have to try to explain himself. There were two guys in black uniforms, one coming towards Dean, the other towards his attacker. One of the store clerks, an elderly woman named Dora, came running out, her jacket clutched around her. "Dean didn't do anything but protect himself!" she said. "That man just attacked him with a knife." She pointed at the guy.

"Where's the knife?" the officer asked.

"Under my car," Dean said. He turned to Dora. "Go on inside before you freeze."

"I just wanted to make sure they do right by you."

Dean smiled at her. "Got it covered, sweetheart," he said. "Go inside where it's warm."

She patted his cheek and cooed for a second over his face, which was undoubtedly beginning to swell and change color. Then she went back inside. Dean turned around to find the two cops around the other guy, an unusual experience for him.

"Can I get your name, sir?" asked one of the cops while the other one sat Dean's attacker down in the back of the squad car.

"Dean," he said. "Dean Winchester." He didn't have any other identities prepared. Fortunately, all the ordnance was in the trunk and tucked away so he wasn't likely to have to explain anything, not even the gun he wore on his hip, not like he might if he was in California or New York.

"What happened?"

Dean narrated the events, for once not embroidering or altering them in the slightest. It felt really weird to be telling the absolute truth to the cops. Once he'd told his side, Officer Laramie said, "All right, Mr. Winchester, can I borrow your keys to move the car?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "No one drives my car," he said. "I barely let my brother drive that car. And he doesn't even speed."

The two officers, Laramie and Wilson, exchanged a look. "Then will you move the car just into the next parking spot?"

Dean nodded and did so, noticing that they had gathered a bit of a crowd. He got out and walked back to find the two cops squatting over the knife on the ground. Laramie took a picture with a phone camera and Wilson picked it up and put it in a baggy. It felt vaguely CSI but not remotely lame. "Look, I've got people waiting for me," he said. "And I've got to be at work by eight."

"Where do you work?"

"Woody's, on –"

"I know it," Wilson said. "We've got your information, so we'll contact you if you're needed further."

"Thanks," Dean replied and he loaded his groceries into the back seat and got going.

He pulled out his phone and looked at it. Something was wrong with it. It still wasn't ringing, but Sam had called twice. He dialed. "Dean, where the hell are you?" Sam demanded before Dean could even speak.

Dean blinked. "Pulling out of the grocery store parking lot."

"What's taken so long?"

"I'll explain when I get there, Sammy. I got the makings for hamburgers, but I think it might be too late tonight. Maybe we can save them for tomorrow."

"What happened?" Sam asked again.

"I'll be there in five minutes, Sammy, okay?" Shaking his head, Dean hung up. Sam was going to freak.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the confusion. Occasionally AO3 gets confused and rearranges my chapters on me. I put the real chapter 11 up when I meant to post chapter 10. I'm really sorry. Here is chapter 10.

Dean had said he'd drop by and pick up some paper towels more than an hour ago. Ellen and Jo were upstairs, still cleaning. He'd given them all the paper towels they had in the apartment and he'd raided LOL's stash for a couple more rolls, with Jerry's approval. He'd come back down to fix them all dinner since Jo and Ellen's place wasn't going to be ready for cooking before it was time.

The door opened behind him, and Sam turned from his heating up of canned chili to see his brother coming in. There was a cut on his forehead, a bruise forming behind it, and his clothes were torn. "You've been in a fight?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Some bastard decided to go gay bashing," Dean replied casually, bringing a grocery bag and a bulk pack of paper towels over to the kitchen. "I taught him a lesson he won't soon forget."

"Are you okay?" Sam exclaimed, scrutinizing the cut. It wasn't big enough to require stitches, but that it existed at all pissed Sam off.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Nothing more than a little workout. Might have gotten worse sparring with you."

That brought to mind a time when Sam had actually beaten his brother to the ground until he could no longer get up, and Sam grimaced. "Dean, seriously, dude, are you hurt?"

"He hit me twice," Dean replied repressively. "Get over it. I'm fine."

Sam hated it when Dean got stoic, but there was no point in pursuing it. When Dean didn't want to talk, Dean didn't talk. Giving his brother one more worried glance, Sam returned to stirring the chili. Dean went into the bathroom, and a moment later Sam heard the shower come on. They had a little over an hour before they needed to head in for work, so he grabbed a plastic bag and headed to the fridge to make his brother an icepack to keep the bruise on his forehead from swelling. When Dean came out, he handed it across without a word, and Dean took it, pressing it to his face with a grimace.

At that moment, the door opened, admitting Ellen and Jo. "What happened to you?" Ellen asked immediately, crossing to the table where Dean had settled himself.

"Walked into a door," Dean said.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, exasperated.

"What?" Dean growled, and Ellen turned, raising her eyebrows eloquently.

"He got bashed," Sam said in answer to her unspoken question. "As in gay bashing."

"Bashed?" Dean repeated. "You make it sound like a big deal."

"You didn't actually tell me what happened," Sam said.

"What did happen, Dean, honey?" Ellen asked, sitting down.

Sam didn't grin. That would be the surest way to make Ellen's effort fail, but he had a feeling Dean would find it harder to refuse to answer someone like Ellen. Jo, sure, Sam, most definitely, but Ellen had a secret weapon neither he nor Jo shared. She had a mommy vibe.

Dean shrugged. "I came out of the store to find a jerk leaning against my car. He said he'd heard about me and wanted to see the . . . what was it he said? The butch faggot? He wanted to see the butch faggot for himself."

"Oh dear," Ellen said, sounding almost sorry for the guy.

"So, he came at me with a knife, and I –"

"Knife!" Sam exclaimed. "You didn't say anything about a knife."

"I just did, Sammy," Dean said irritably. "Do you want to hear this or not?" Sam just waved at him to continue. "Anyway, he wasn't any good, so I knocked the knife under the car and beat up on him till the cops showed up."

"The cops?" Sam shook his head. "You got in trouble with the cops, and you're only just mentioning it?"

"No, Sammy," Dean replied.

"But you just said –"

"I said the cops showed up, but they arrested the other guy and sent me on my way."

Sam blinked at him. "That must have felt a little weird."

Dean shook his head. "No, what felt weird was telling them the unvarnished truth," he said with a grin, lowering the icepack and touching his forehead gingerly.

"That's quite a bruise," Ellen observed. "You're going to have one hell of a shiner tomorrow."

"So, is anyone going to feed me, or do I just have to sit here looking pathetic till it's time to go?"

Sam realized that he hadn't fed anyone and hurried back to the chili, dishing out four heaping bowls and bringing the bag of grated cheese with him. They all settled down to eat.

"How much work is it proving to be to get the place upstairs ready for habitation?" Dean asked after a while.

"A lot," Ellen said. "Maybe if we were a couple of bachelors we wouldn't care, but we're not."

"I wouldn't live there as it is now," Sam said.

"Yeah, but everyone already knows you're a girl."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'd better get ready. Time to smear some more fake tan on."

"You enjoy that, Sammy," Dean said.

When Sam emerged from the bathroom about twenty minutes later, he found Dean fully kitted out in his pirate get up, with an unexpected addition. He was wearing a silky red scarf around his head at a jaunty angle that perfectly covered the damage to his forehead. The ends had fringe, and they dangled onto his shoulder.

"Cute."

"I won't be able to cover it tomorrow, but tonight I'm going gypsy."

"Whatever, Dean. Let's go."

Sam and Jeff worked together again, but this was Jeff's last night before maternity leave, so there were a lot of last minute instructions sandwiched in between orders. Dean bounced around the bar, looking for all the world like he hadn't had a fist fight that had started as a knife fight earlier in the day.

Jeff took a break at about eleven, leaving Sam at the bar alone. He was mixing drinks for Martin and Gerald, one of the other waiters, when he heard them talking. Their words sort of drifted through his mind as so many other conversations had all evening.

"The way he looks at him is really intense," Gerald said. "There's definitely a connection there."

"Did you see how he was staring before Dean even noticed him?" The name caught Sam's attention, and he glanced over to see Dean talking to someone he couldn't see. "It was creepy, how he stood there, motionless, just his eyes following Dean's every movement." That did sound alarming. It was distinctly possible that Martin had seen something relevant to the case.

"He's hot, whoever he is," Gerald said to Martin.

"So was Ted Bundy," Martin replied. "That didn't make him safe." He shook his head, and Sam gazed anxiously at Dean. "That guy has stalker eyes." Martin said.

Sam reminded himself that Dean could take care of himself, and that if he was talking to a suspect, barging over would not help matters. Besides, he was alone at the bar, so he couldn't exactly leave without a good reason. Still, after the afternoon's adventure, Sam wasn't really comfortable with Dean being alone with some strange guy with 'stalker eyes.'

A third waiter came up – Sam thought his name was Jericho – his eyes sparkling. "I got his name," he said excitedly. "I heard Dean call him Cas." The anxious knot of worry that had been building in Sam's chest released, only to be replaced by a new one. What was Cas so concerned about? Did the source of the angel's bad feeling have anything to do with his own?

Martin put his tray down on the bar and walked away, not towards Dean and the angel, but towards the exit. Sam shook his head and returned his focus to making drinks. He discovered that while his mind had been elsewhere, his hands had been busy. He gave Gerald his drinks, and put three of Martin's on his tray to wait for his return. Jericho placed his orders and Sam kept working. The crowd in the room parted slightly, and he could see that it was, in fact, Castiel talking to Dean. Cas looked tense, but when didn't he? Sam would have to ask Dean later what the meeting was about.

* * *

Dean pulled Castiel into a relatively empty spot between tables. He'd passed off his orders to Jericho so he could talk to the angel for a few moments. Ted wouldn't mind an unscheduled break, so long as he didn't leave the club.

"What's up, Cas?" he asked, leaning close, as Jericho hightailed it to the bar.

"You didn't answer any of my calls," Castiel said.

"I was busy," Dean said. "What's up with you, anyway? You called seven times today."

"And you didn't answer even once," Castiel replied, and Dean rolled his eyes. When had the angel turned into a mother hen? Dean had more than enough of those at the moment. "I grew worried," Castiel added. "Finally I called Sam, but he also did not answer. I went to the apartment, and Ellen told me where you'd be."

"How do you know Ellen?"

"I introduced myself," Castiel replied. "Why didn't you answer my calls? Is something wrong?"

"Dude, nothing is wrong. I'm just working a –"

A large body interposed itself between Dean and Castiel. Dean looked up and recognized Jes. Speaking of mother hens . . . Jes exuded menace in Castiel's direction. "Excuse me, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he said in his deep, intimidating voice.

Dean blinked. "Jes, it's fine," he said.

"This man sneaked in," Jes replied. "He was not admitted."

Castiel stepped sideways. "Perhaps we should go outside to talk," he said soberly.

"Cas, I'm at work," Dean said. "I can't just –"

"He needs to go," Jes said firmly, and Dean saw Martin walking towards them, his eyes full of self-righteous anger. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he recognized all the signs of a really nasty scene brewing.

Dean grabbed Cas by the hand and looked up at Jes. "He will," he said. "After one dance." With that, he dragged a really startled-looking Castiel out onto the floor. He pulled the angel close, grabbing his hips and forcing him to move in time with the music. "Dance, Cas, or they really will throw you out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and tell me how you like the story. As those who have read others of my stories can tell you, I am very needy, and I'm not shy about saying so. Comments feed me and make me feel special.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam had wondered what Dean was going to do when he found Jes and Martin closing in on his little conference with Castiel. His jaw dropped when Dean actually grabbed the angel and pulled him into the middle of the dance floor. For a moment, Castiel stood stock still, and Sam thought Dean's attempt to make him fit in was going to tank, but then they started moving together in a way that was on par with some of the couples on the floor who actually had a sensual connection. They were practically grinding.

"Sammy," said Jericho, lengthening the name with a mocking tone. It brought Sam back to earth from his astonishment, and he turned towards the waiter. "A guy might think you'd never seen your brother dance before."

"I haven't," he said frankly, then returned to fixing drinks.

* * *

"Dean, we must speak."

"So speak," Dean said, still controlling Castiel's hips. It was a weird sensation, to feel an angel's pelvis moving in time with his. "I can't just go outside during my shift, and besides, it's damn cold out there, or hadn't you noticed?"

"The last time I was outside, I was in Australia," Castiel replied.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, it's snowy here." He glanced around surreptitiously to see what the other dancing pairs were doing and put his arms around Castiel's neck. "Talk if you're going to."

The position they were in brought Cas close enough that Dean felt moist breath against his ear. "Why didn't you answer my calls?" the angel asked.

"Because I was busy, and because my ringer was off." Castiel opened his mouth. "Put your hands on my butt, Cas. This needs to look right."

"Dean, I –" Dean grabbed Castiel's hands and placed them squarely on his rear end, returning his own hands to Castiel's neck. Castiel had rhythm, Dean had to admit. They were doing pretty well at keeping time to the music. He hadn't ever done much dancing, but it seemed like a fun activity, kind of like having sex, only with clothes on. "Dean!" Castiel said intently. "Why would you turn your ringer off?"

"I didn't," Dean said. "I don't know what's wrong with it." The song had a driving beat, but Castiel's movements were beginning to falter. "Cas, keep it up. You need to dance."

"I have never danced with a man before," Castiel replied.

"Have you ever danced with a girl?"

Castiel's eyes were distant. "In the clouds."

"With a chick!" Dean exclaimed, but then he realized how loudly he'd spoken. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Way to go, Cas."

"We were young," Castiel said repressively.

"Okay, I sense a story, but now's not the time."

"No," Castiel said firmly.

The rhythm was faltering again. Dean couldn't keep this up on his own. "Cas, come on. If you're not sure what to do, look at some of the others."

"You never called me back," Castiel said, but his dancing improved.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, when I got your message, I –" He shook his head. "Why are you calling so much, Cas? You never have anything to tell me, and it's beginning to drive me nuts." Castiel didn't speak for a long moment, and Dean glanced around to see how people were looking at them. Martin had returned to work, but Jes was hovering at the edge of the floor, his eye on the angel. "Cas, you –"

"I do not altogether feel comfortable discussing this here," the angel said, the whole length of his body pressing warmly against Dean's.

"No one is listening," Dean said. Castiel's hands shifted up to Dean's back for a moment, and it felt very strange to be in this close embrace. They were really getting the hang of the dancing, their hips moving in unison, Cas's hands on the small of his back. Dean shifted his arms out around Castiel's shoulders, his hands on the angel's upper back.

"I have had a bad feeling about events surrounding you for some weeks now," Castiel said finally.

"A bad feeling?" Dean repeated. "Why didn't you say something?"

Castiel shrugged, and Dean could feel muscles move all up and down Castiel's torso. "I did not wish to alarm you, and I did not wish to make you careless."

"Careless?" Dean shook his head. "Cas, you're holding me close, not just putting your hands flat against my body." The angels hands shifted, and Dean nodded. "Why would that make me careless?"

Castiel leaned in closer to Dean's ear and spoke softly. Other couples were drawing near, so Dean thought he was trying to keep their conversation private, but their cheeks were actually touching. "You have a tendency to try to prove yourself unafraid when warned of possible threats," Castiel said quietly.

Dean rolled his eyes, though Cas couldn't see his expression with as close as they were together. "Is that all you got, Cas? A bad feeling?"

"I do not get them often." Castiel's lips were practically touching Dean's ear, making him shiver. "And they always portend ill."

Dean leaned back a little. "I'll be careful, okay?" Castiel was silent, and Dean snorted. "It's not like I could avoid it at the moment, with Sammy being all nutso with the overparenting." This seemed to go right over Castiel's head, not surprisingly. Something suddenly occurred to Dean, and he leaned back further still, so that he could see Cas's face. "Wait, is the reason you're calling so often to check up on me?" Castiel's eyebrows went up and Dean interpreted that as an acknowledgment. "Dude, I will call you before I head to work in the evenings if that will make you feel better."

"Before and after," Castiel said.

Dean rolled his eyes again. "Fine, before and after." Raising his hands to the backs of Dean's shoulders, Castiel pulled him close again, and Dean didn't resist. The angel's hands made their slow way downward again. Dean let out a wry laugh. "You're being very girly, you know."

Dean knew that Castiel was blinking in puzzlement because he could feel the eyelashes against his skin. "How can I be girly? I am not a girl."

"Neither is Sam." Castiel's hands had reached Dean's butt, and the sudden squeeze the angel gave made Dean squeak and stiffen in surprise. He could not believe that an angel had just grabbed his ass. That might just be a little too far in character. At that moment, he saw Jes's eyes narrow across the room, and the bouncer started through the crowd towards them. Dean spoke hurriedly into Castiel's ear. "Dude, if you really need to talk to me, meet me at the car after one, okay? I think you'd better go, because Jes looks pretty pissed, and I think Martin is just looking for a chance to scratch your face off." Castiel nodded and took a step back. Dean caught his arm. "And use the door, Cas? Okay?"

Castiel sighed and turned towards the exit. Since he was leaving on his own, Jes simply followed him to see that he left. Martin came to Dean and dragged him into the back room. "What were you thinking, Dean!" he exclaimed.

Dean shook Martin's hand off. "Right now I'm thinking I'd better get back to work before Ted fires my ass."

Martin made an irritated sound as Dean headed back into the noise and dim lights of the club, but he didn't protest.


	12. Chapter 12

As Castiel passed the bar, Sam glanced over at him. The angel's eyes caught Sam's in one of his intense looks. When he'd gone, Sam was left wondering what the hell Cas had expected him to glean from that brief, wordless communication. Business sped up after that, which made it impossible for Sam to catch Dean and ask him what that astonishingly sensual demonstration on the dance floor had signified. Dean hurried around and came up to have his orders filled without apparent self-consciousness, even though half the waiters were staring at him when they had free seconds.

After he'd clocked out, Dean grabbed him before he even had a chance to get his coat on and dragged him out the back door. "Let's go, Sammy," he said in an undertone. "Before I get cornered for some kind of intervention."

"Interven . . ." Sam shook his head. "Do you have any idea what the two of you looked like on the dance floor?"

"Oh God, did we look goofy?" Dean asked, for the first time demonstrating a bit of embarrassment. "We looked stupid, didn't we?"

Sam shook his head, dragging his coat on over his full sleeves. "Actually, it looked almost like you guys were screwing right there."

Dean tilted his head quizzically. "Is that good?" he asked. "I mean, did it look convincing? The relationship, I mean."

"It looked indecent, Dean!"

Dean grinned. "So, convincing, then." He was silent for a moment. "Did you see Cas grab my ass?"

"I did! Why did he do that?"

"I don't know!"

"Because you told me to," Castiel said. They had just come around the corner to the Impala, and Castiel stood at the front of the car, bringing him and Dean face to face.

"Personal space, dude!" Dean exclaimed.

"You told me to wait by the car," Castiel said with a puzzled tilt to his head. "I am by the car."

Dean blinked. "True." He took a step back. "What do you mean I told you to?"

"You told me to observe the other dancers and imitate them. A man six and three-quarters feet beyond you was caressing the buttocks of his dancing partner."

"Oh," Dean said, sounding flabbergasted. "That's okay then."

Sam glanced at his brother, amused by his discomfiture. He raised his eyebrows disingenuously at Cas. "So, did you like it?" Castiel raised his eyebrows. "Caressing Dean's buttocks?"

"It was not unpleasant," Castiel replied.

"Dude, that's enough. We are done."

"You have very firm buttocks," Castiel added soberly.

Dean opened the driver's door of the Impala. "Okay, my firm buttocks and I are getting in the car now and taking our ass home. You two can walk." He slammed the door, and a moment later the engine growled to life.

Sam snorted. "Well, I guess we've been told," he said, turning towards Cas. "Shall –"

Castiel raised his hand and touched the first two fingers to Sam's shoulder, and they were suddenly in the apartment. Sam blinked, startled. Ellen was about fifteen feet in front of them, and, letting out a an exclamation, she dropped a bucket full of bottles of cleaning supplies. It tipped over and things started rolling everywhere.

Sam glanced down at Castiel, and the angel winked at him. Sam's eyes widened in utter astonishment. Castiel tilted his head. "Did I use that gesture correctly?" he asked, clearly referring to the wink.

"Yeah, you did great," Sam said, still floored by Castiel's sudden turn into humor.

"Do you guys do this often?" Ellen demanded, and they both turned to see her glaring at them, her hands on her hips.

"He does," Sam said, pointing at Cas. "I don't usually." Something Dean was always saying occurred to him. "Oh, man, am I going to be able to poop after this?"

Castiel gazed somberly at him. "I have no idea. I do not know why Dean has difficulty, but then, I never poop."

Sam just about lost it, and laughing at Cas at this moment seemed terrifically rude. "I . . . have to go to the bathroom," he said in a choked voice, and he hurried across to the room, managing to get the door shut and the water on before losing control.

* * *

Ellen stared at Castiel who nodded at her. "Hello," he said.

"Hi," she replied. "Where's Dean?"

"He is driving home," Castiel said. "He told us to walk."

"Oh, I –" She stopped and shook her head. "Wait, he told _you_ to walk home? Both of you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I believe he was displeased about my comments regarding the firmness of his buttocks, and Sam's response."

Ellen gaped for a second, mildly grateful that Jo was still out at work. She cleared her throat. "Why were you discussing Dean's buttocks?"

"The subject came up, and I am attempting to improve my conversational skills."

"To fit in better?" Ellen asked, certain that it was necessary. The angel's conversational style combined something of the sweetness of a child with the tactlessness of an autistic adult.

Castiel gave her a solemn look. "To improve the efficiency of my interactions with Dean and Sam," he replied.

Ellen nodded slowly. "Well, as a note, most men don't really discuss the firmness of their buttocks with other men." Castiel's brow furrowed, and Ellen thought she'd better amplify. "Dean is only pretending to be gay."

"I don't understand the relevance," Castiel said.

"Well, you know that Dean is pretending to be homosexual?" Ellen asked.

"Yes," Castiel replied. "I believe I, too, just pretended to be homosexual." Ellen's jaw dropped. "But what has that to do with Dean's mood?"

"His mood?" Ellen repeated, not sure where that was coming from.

"You just said that Dean was pretending to be gay," Castiel said. "I admit, he does seem more cheerful of late, unusually so, in fact. You believe he is pretending?"

Ellen shook her head. "Castiel, gay is a synonym for homosexual in our culture," she said, barely containing her desire to laugh.

Castiel paused for a moment, appearing to consider this remark. "It is slang?"

"Yes. A euphemism."

Castiel nodded slowly. "I see. So, he is cheerful. That is not a pretense?"

Ellen swallowed, then turned her head. "Sam!" she called. "You coming out of there anytime soon, kiddo?"

"No!" he replied emphatically, and she stifled a series of curses at the boy's escape from this exceedingly awkward conversation.

"Do you think something is wrong?" Castiel asked, concern sharpening his tone. "Do you think he is having trouble with his –"

Ellen knew she would not be able to bear it if the angel actually said the word _pooping,_ so she interrupted him. "No, I'm sure he's fine."

The door opened suddenly, and Ellen turned, grateful for the distraction. Jo walked in, her shoulders slumped. "Castiel, you should meet my daughter, Jo."

He turned towards her. "Oh, yes, the young woman who is infatuated with Dean."

Ellen wondered if Sam would share the bathroom with her as Jo turned furious eyes on her. "Mother, who is this?"

"Jo, this is Castiel, the angel who saved Dean from Hell."

All the ire dropped from Jo's expression at once, and she walked straight towards the angel. "Thank you," she said, and then she gave him a kiss on the lips.

Just at that moment, the door opened again, and Dean walked in. His eyes widened at the sight of Jo kissing Castiel.

Jo stepped back, and Castiel nodded. "You're welcome."

Dean walked across the room. "Would you care to explain this, Cas?" he said, his tone dark.

"Explain what?" Castiel asked, looking puzzled.

"Jo?" Dean prompted.

Jo gave him a sweet, perplexed look. "What, Dean?" she asked.

Loud guffaws broke forth from the bathroom, and Ellen silently cursed the boy again. Dean walked over and pounded on the bathroom door. "You having an amusing bowel movement in there, Sammy? Oh, wait, I forgot, you won't be having one of those for at least a week."

Ellen began laughing helplessly. "Does anyone else feel like they're on a sitcom?"

Two voices, one slightly muffled by the bathroom wall, responded with a loud, firm, "No!" Ellen blinked at the unanimity of the response.

"No laugh track," Castiel said with a straight face, and Ellen covered her face with her hands. She walked over to the bathroom door and opened it with a jerk. "Okay, big guy. My turn."

Sam emerged sheepishly, but before she could go in, Castiel turned towards Dean. "Dean, I do need to speak with you."

"About your bad feeling?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, what's going on?"

Ellen decided she'd better stick around for this conversation. "Anyone want some dinner?" she asked, heading towards the kitchen.

"I am starving," Dean said, striding across.

They settled at the kitchen table and Ellen served up spaghetti to those who were interested in food. Apparently, angels didn't eat. Or at least Castiel didn't eat. Once everyone had a plate and was seated, Dean said, "So, this bad feeling?"

"Do you wish me to be open in front of the Harvelles?" Castiel asked.

"Keeping secrets never got us anyplace good," Dean replied. "So sure."

"I do not know the source of this feeling, Dean, but it is extremely strong. There is a threat, but I do not know the source."

"So it could be Zachariah, or it could be a mugger on a street corner."

"Only if the mugger is targeting you specifically. It is not a general threat."

"So me and not Sammy?" Dean clarified.

"If Sam were included, I would have mentioned it."

"So you think Dean is in danger, but you don't know from what," Sam asked.

"Yes."

"So there's no way we can avoid it," Sam added anxiously. "For all we know, anything we might do might make things worse."

"Yes."

"Then it won't do us any good to worry about it," Dean said, shrugging.

Castiel rolled his eyes, which brought Ellen's mirth dangerously close to the surface again. "This is why I didn't tell you in the first place," he said dourly.

"Cas, I'm already being careful – hey, wait. I got attacked this afternoon. Could that be what you were expecting?"

"No," the angel said flatly. "If that were the case, the sense of foreboding would be gone."

"Foreboding?" Dean repeated. "Did someone slip you a bowl of alphabet soup this morning?"

"I'm sorry?" Castiel said. "I don't understand."

"Your vocabulary can be a little overwhelming sometimes."

"Foreboding!" Sam exclaimed. "Dean, seriously?"

Dean gave his brother a startled look, then he turned towards the female end of the table. "Ellen, Jo, back me up here."

Jo was looking at him like he was crazy, and Ellen just shook her head. "I don't see anything odd in it, Dean."

Dean let out an exasperated sigh, but before he could wax eloquent on what was clearly a favorite topic, Jo spoke up. "Dean, you should show more respect."

Ellen's eyes widened, and she exchanged a glance with Sam that showed he felt just as amused and appalled as she did. The angel simply raised his chin slightly, as though acknowledging the truth of Jo's words.

"Toward whom?" Dean asked, with what had to be self consciously correct grammar.

Jo gaped at him for a second before she recovered her voice. "How about towards the angel who saved your life?"

Dean glanced sideways at Cas. "He wouldn't know who I was if I started kowtowing at him." Castiel shrugged. "Frankly, I think it's a hell of a lot more respectful to treat him like one of us than to give him some kind of holy aura." Castiel gave Dean an odd look, like he found that a peculiar remark. "And I don't treat him the way I treat all the other angels because they're dicks, and he's not a dick." Dean shrugged. "Besides, he's family. You don't talk that way to family."

Sam gave Dean a startled look, but then he tilted his head thoughtfully. Castiel considered Dean's remark for a moment, then turned to Sam, whose eyes had widened in what looked like realization. "You do not think of me as family, do you, Sam?" he asked.

"I actually hadn't thought of it like that," he said. "But . . . yeah, I guess I do."

"Hey, dude!" Dean exclaimed. "No chick flick moments."

"You started it," Sam replied.

"I so did not." He glared around the table. "Jo –" He broke off, his expression going mutinous as if he'd realized how the 'chick flick' moment had actually come about. "Why is everyone picking on me?" he demanded, glowering.

Sam snorted, put on a lugubrious face, and half-sang, half-spoke a line from a song. "Why is everybody always picking on me?"

The gibe seemed fair enough to Ellen, but Dean didn't seem to appreciate it. He rose sharply. "I'm going for a walk," he announced, stalking across to grab his jacket. Ellen glanced at Sam in time to see the younger brother give Dean's plate a furtive look, as though checking to see if he'd eaten.

"Then I am coming with you," Castiel said, rising.

Dean turned sharply. "Alone, Cas."

"Then I will follow you," Castiel said placidly.

Ellen pretended not to hear the brief argument that followed. In the end, Dean turned towards the rest of them, though his eyes were very firmly on Sam's. "Fine, but just Cas. No one else."

"I never said a thing," Sam said innocently.

Dean turned his collar up and stalked off out the door, Castiel close behind him.

When the door was closed, Ellen turned to Sam. "Would you care to explain two things to me?" she demanded, and the boy's eyes went wide. "First, why does Castiel know how firm Dean's buttocks are? And second, why did it come up in conversation?"

Sam gaped at her, and the power of speech seemed to leave him altogether. Not Jo, however. "Excuse me?" she exclaimed. "What are you talking about, Mom?"

"Sam?"

"Um . . . Dean wanted a private conversation with Cas in the club, and I guess the only way he could think of to do it was by dragging Cas out onto the dance floor." He shrugged. "He told Cas to imitate the other couples, and I guess he did."

"Are you saying that the angel groped Dean's ass?" Jo asked incredulously.

"I'm saying they did a slow lambada out there in front of everyone. And then afterwards, Cas and I were sort of teasing Dean about it."

"Dean slow danced with an angel?" Jo asked.

"Dean did a bump and grind with an angel," Sam corrected. "There were guys watching them and fanning themselves."

"Wow," Ellen said. "Well, there's an intensity there that would certainly help to convey that impression."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"I mean there's a powerful chemistry between Dean and Castiel," Ellen said. "You're probably so used to it that you don't even notice it anymore, but it's there, and it's hard to miss for the rest of us." Jo was nodding, and Sam looked startled. "Just the way he looks at Dean . . ." She shook her head. "If I didn't know he was an angel and poorly socialized, I'd be worried about him."

Sam grimaced. "Martin said Cas had stalker eyes," he said.

"That's exactly what I mean," Ellen replied. "Unless he's talking to someone else, his eyes never leave Dean, and even then, they're on Dean more often than not."

Sam knew what she was talking about. He'd found it odd and occasionally alarming early in the time he'd known Castiel, but Ellen was right. He'd grown used to it and no longer thought anything of the way Castiel behaved around Dean. "This could get awkward," he muttered.

"Why so?"

"Because Martin and the others think Cas is a stalker," he said.

"Come again?"

"He's been calling once or twice every day for the last while, I guess," Sam said. "And Dean accepted Martin's explanation that he had an ex who wouldn't leave him be." He shook his head helplessly. "Tonight's activities aren't exactly going to discourage that notion."

Jo whistled. " _Stalked by an Angel_ , new show, starting at nine pm five nights a week."

Sam rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Ten eastern, nine central, get it right." He let out a mirthless laugh. "Be sure and tell Dean that. He'll love it."

"Great, now I have images of Michael Landon peeking in windows," Ellen said. "Thanks for that." She walked off and started washing the dishes.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean's conversation with Castiel wasn't going much of anywhere. The angel had developed strong anxiety over Dean's safety, but he had nothing specific to suggest as a solution. "Perhaps you should leave this city," he suggested finally.

"Cas, I'm in the middle of a case," Dean said. "People are getting killed. I'm not just walking out on that because you have the stomach flu."

"I am not ill," Castiel said. "But you are in danger."

"How would leaving the city help?" Dean asked, and when Castiel didn't immediately respond, Dean shook his head. "I'm not abandoning a case without a good reason." What Cas didn't know – presumably, he knew all sorts of things he shouldn't – was that Sam had already essentially walked away from this case without meaning to. It wasn't happening again.

"You won't be able to help anyone if you're dead or in a hospital, Dean," Castiel pointed out.

"Until you can tell me what the threat actually is, I'm going to keep working, keep looking after Sammy, keep up with my normal life. There's no point in running around in circles trying to avoid something we can't identify."

Castiel pursed his lips. "I can tell you that I did not have this uneasiness before you came to this place. It is possible that the threat is localized."

"I'm not abandoning the guys who are getting killed in this city over 'possible,' Cas. You've got to give me something real, something I can go on."

They had reached the door into Dean's building again, and Castiel nodded. "Very well. I will endeavor to do just that."

Before Dean could respond, the wings beat and Castiel was gone. Dean opened the front door and stepped into the dark stairwell. Directly in front of him was the staircase. To the right there was a short hallway with doors leading into LOL and into the lower levels of the building. With the club now closed for a couple of hours and the coffee shop not due to open for several more, the hallway was shrouded in darkness.

Dean trotted up the first couple of steps, but he heard a noise down that dark hall. He backed down the steps slowly, his hand creeping to the 1911 pistol he had concealed at the small of his back. The basement door was ajar, so Dean eased it open and peered around. There was a light visible at the bottom of the stairs, but it was dim and mobile, like a flashlight. Dean made his way down the stairs slowly, aware at the back of his mind that he should probably be calling the cops like a good tenant, but investigating was automatic.

Just before his feet would start to be visible, Dean squatted and leaned sideways, supporting his weight partially on the banister. In the corner of the basement there was a girl of no more than nine or ten. He eased a little further out of hiding to see if she was alone, and to get a better look at her. Her clothes were dirty and worn, and she appeared to be attempting to make a bed out of cardboard boxes and newspapers from the recycling bins. Dean shook his head. He wasn't going to turn the kid out into the snowy night, and he hated the idea of calling the cops on a nine-year-old. Part of him told him that this was none of his business, he should just turn around and climb back up the stairs without alerting her to his presence.

However, it wasn't in Dean's make up to leave a kid that age alone in a cold cellar to sleep on cardboard boxes. Ellen would know what to do, and since the girl would probably rabbit the minute she saw Dean, Ellen might be a better person to approach her anyway.

Just as Dean came to this conclusion, the little girl turned and spotted him. She froze and her face went white. Dean retucked the 1911 into his waistband and started down the stairs with his hands out where the child could see them. "Hey, it's okay," he said. He would have said more, but at that moment the basement door slammed shut and the girl disappeared. That was his last clear sight before the dim light went out. "What the –" Dean muttered as he turned towards the stairs, digging in his pocket for a penlight with one hand while reaching for the pistol with the other. Before he could do anything more, he felt strong arms encircle him from behind. He started to fight back, but a strange lassitude came over him at the touch.

A low, husky voice murmured in his ear. "Mancipium."

The unfamiliar word brought a rush of memories into Dean's mind, and he began to struggle again. His fingers were brushing against the grip of his pistol, but the man – the witch – held him too tightly for him to actually grasp it, much less draw it, and the adrenaline hadn't rid him of the lassitude, just lessened it slightly. "Let go of me, you bastard!" Dean growled.

The man forced Dean forward several feet, and Dean couldn't hold himself back. He wound up face to the wall, but he figured the guy had to have some way to see, because he didn't hit hard enough to hurt. Dean searched his mind, trying to figure out how he could have forgotten all of this, how he could have failed to tell Sam and Cas and everyone that he'd actually met their target. Then his attacker moved back slightly, and Dean closed his hand around the pistol grip.

An iron hand seized his wrist. "Not so fast." With one hand in the center of Dean's back, he held Dean firmly against the wall and forced his right arm away from his body. A deft twist made Dean's hand pop open, and the gun clattered to the concrete floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean snarled. "Get the fuck away from me."

"Language, Dean," the man said, his tone mockingly reproving. "I don't mind you calling me a bastard, it's literally true, but my mother was a sweet girl, if a bit simple."

"Get off me!" Dean shoved backwards, but the man didn't move at all.

Without speaking, the stranger twisted Dean's right arm up behind him and used that grip to hold him against the wall, freeing his other hand. Dean had his left arm bent and was shoving at the wall, trying to get loose. Abruptly, the guy clasped a cuff around Dean's left wrist and started dragging the arm upwards. Dean tried to pull his hand back, but the guy had to have some kind of magic that was making him unbelievably strong. He held Dean's left arm against the wall above his head and forced his right arm up to join it.

"What are you doing?" A second cuff closed around Dean's wrist and he jerked at it. The man moved back, and Dean pulled at the cuffs, then felt at the way they were attached. There was a six inch chain between the handcuffs, and it appeared to be hooked behind a pipe. Dean relaxed his arms and thumped his forehead against the wall, wincing when he hit the bruise. He tried to figure out the logic of this. Why grab him, then chain him to a wall in his own basement?

The man grabbed Dean and turned him around, twisting the chain between the cuffs tighter. Light came back suddenly and Dean stared into his attacker's face. He felt the tension in his body drain as he sank into the chocolate depths of the man's eyes. "Better," the man murmured, so close that his breath was warm against Dean's skin.

Dean wrenched his gaze away and closed his eyes. This was the third time he'd been alone with this man. How soon was the bastard going to kill him? He didn't recall there being any mention of strange interludes on the part of the other victims – on the other hand, he hadn't told anyone, either. The stranger reached up and unzipped Dean's coat, then flipped it open and all of Dean's outer layers up. He slipped his hands under Dean's t-shirt and stroked the bare flesh beneath.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dean demanded. The man didn't respond, he just leaned forward and bit Dean's lower lip before pressing close for a kiss. Dean's first instinct was to bite down, but hands stroking up his back and sides distracted him, especially when thumbs began to caress his nipples in unison. Sensation swept through him, ending at his groin, which began to throb.

Dean shook his head and turned away, breaking the kiss. "Get your hands off me," he growled.

"I don't believe you really want me to," the bastard said, tilting his head and nibbling on Dean's ear. His thumbs continued their massage of Dean's nipples, and Dean ground his teeth against the way that sent erotic thrills down his abdomen to his crotch.

"Let me –" The bastard took advantage of the vowel to kiss Dean again, and while Dean did bite down this time, he found himself unable to actually cause harm. In fact, he began to kiss back, but when he realized what was happening, he turned away again, glowering sideways at the man. "What did you do to me?"

The stranger smiled, and Dean felt him pulling up the t-shirt. A moment later, he felt a tongue glide around his left nipple, and he let out a startled gasp that turned into a moan before he could stop it. Teeth pinched the sensitive nub and Dean twitched.

"Stop it," he growled, keeping his head to the side to make kissing difficult.

The hands dropped lower, and the teeth returned to Dean's ear, gently nibbling the lobe. Dean felt his breathing begin to deepen as the fingers stroked his belly and then began to undo his belt.

"No, damn it!" he ground out, trying to knee the man away from him. The man slipped his legs between Dean's, rendering that impossible. Dean yanked at the cuffs even though he could see that they were regulation. No simple jerking was getting them off. The hands kept busy at his waist, undoing the waistband as well, then shoving the whole mess down. Dean thumped his head against the wall, grinding his teeth as his pants and briefs came to rest around his knees. Hands reached around him and stroked the skin of his ass, and Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. The way the guy was kneading his buttocks felt good, but he knew that was wrong. He didn't want this, it was undoubtedly the prelude to a messy, bloody death, and he really didn't have time for this kind of crap right now.

Besides, someone could come in, and wouldn't that just be the capper on this day?

One of the hands left Dean's ass and came up to clasp his chin, forcing Dean's face forward. "I have to go," the man said softly into Dean's mouth, then kissed him intensely, leaning the whole length of his body against Dean's. Dean could feel the denim of the man's pants rubbing against his dick, and it just added to the sensory overload. He only realized he was kissing back when the man drew away again. He stared at his attacker, breathing hard. The bastard was playing with him. "Mancipium peractio," the man murmured, and Dean felt his grasp of the situation, his memories of it, slipping ...


	14. Chapter 14

Sam wondered what Castiel and Dean were up to for so long. Ellen and Jo had gone upstairs to bed, and he was watching an infomercial on the subject of women's make up. Sam had already felt somewhat anxious about Dean to begin with, having Castiel agree made it even worse. He wasn't pacing. That was about all that could be said for him.

"Sam!"

The sudden voice and the presence that went with it brought Sam to his feet in surprise. "What?"

"Where is Dean?"

"He left with you," Sam replied. "What do you mean, where is he?"

"I left him at the door to the building. He did not return?"

"Son of a . . ." Sam grabbed his phone and dialed. It rang, but after several seconds he shook his head. "Voice mail," he growled, grabbing his jacket. Both he and Castiel hurried down the stairs, and Sam cursed the necessity that had forced the angel to put the Enochian sigils on them. "Did you see him enter the building?" he asked urgently.

"I did not."

Sam muttered curses under his breath and glanced around. There were two doors into the club which were conspicuously locked. As they stood there, the basement door opened and Dean staggered out. "Dean!" Sam exclaimed, and he hurried to his brother's side. Dean warded him off, pushing him back. His skin looked gray, but he was regaining his balance okay, so Sam didn't insist. He glanced over at Castiel and saw that the angel, too, was poised to help support his brother. "Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked.

"I think so," he said, looking around, making a vague gesture around the hallway. "Did you see a little girl?"

Sam glanced at Cas and shook his head. "There was no little girl, Dean. What happened?" Dean shrugged, but then he winced. Sam grimaced at his own stupidity. "Let's get you upstairs and sitting down before we –" Castiel reached out and touched both of them, and they were suddenly standing in the apartment. Sam grabbed Dean and led him to one of the dining room chairs. He could swear that the bruise on Dean's forehead was bigger. Once Dean was sitting, he hurried to grab an ice pack.

"Dean, what happened? My sense of your peril increased slowly over the past fifteen minutes, until I knew I had to check on you."

"I'm fine, except that I'm an idiot," Dean said irritably. "I heard a noise in the basement, so I went down and found a little girl, no more than ten, making up a bed in the corner. I figured I'd come up and get Ellen and we could work out what to do with her till morning, but she saw me, and . . ." He shook his head. "She freaked, I tripped and fell on my face, knocked myself out, and I'm guessing she ran off, because she definitely wasn't in the basement when I woke up."

Sam glanced at Cas, and he could see that the angel found this as suspicious as he did. "Look at me, Dean," Sam said. Dean rolled his eyes, then looked at Sam, and Sam studied his pupils. They looked normal. He handed the ice pack over. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I feel like crap," Dean growled. He looked up at Cas, who was gazing down with evident concern. "So, Cas, now we know what the danger was. Me, tripping over my own feet while freaking out a nine-year-old girl. We're good, right?"

"We are not good," Castiel said in his usual stilted way. "You are in danger, Dean. That has not changed."

"Dude, you're being paranoid. Look, I was lying on that basement floor for who knows how long. I'm going to get a shower, then go to bed. You guys do whatever you want." He tossed the icepack at Sam and strode across to the bathroom.

Both Sam and Castiel were silent for a moment, then Sam cleared his throat. "What do you think, Cas?" he asked.

"I do not know," Castiel said. "If it were one of Lucifer's people, they would have killed him outright, if it were one of Zachariah's they would have taken him."

"If it was a serial killing shapeshifter, or whatever, it would be the same thing," Sam said. And it occurred to him abruptly that this might be a great way of replacing Dean without anyone being aware. A surge of adrenaline made him rise and go to the kitchen where he had a supply of holy water. He glanced over at Cas. "Why would anyone attack him and then leave him in the basement? It's not like we interrupted anything."

Castiel pursed his lips. "But you also have a bad feeling, do you not?"

"Hell yes," Sam said. "For one thing, there's just too much happening at once. I mean, he stopped a mugging on Saturday, he got attacked by some gay-bashing moron yesterday, and today he slips and falls in the basement?"

"I am concerned that Dean will not take this seriously," Castiel said.

"You said you felt the danger increase between when you left him and when you came to me?" Sam asked. Castiel nodded. "So presumably something happened in the basement that threatened him somehow." He studied the door to the bathroom. Maybe this wasn't Dean.

The two of them fell silent, both watching the door to the bathroom. When the door finally opened, Dean stared at them. "What, am I supposed to do a strip tease?" he demanded, but then Sam hit him in the face with a shot of holy water. He spluttered and wiped at the liquid. "What the hell, Sam?"

Sam reached into his pocket for the silver pen knife he kept handy for these sorts of situations, but before he could do anything, Castiel turned a puzzled look on him. "Why did you do that?"

Sam shrugged, eyes wide. "He could not be him," he replied, gesturing towards Dean.

Dean let out a growl, but Castiel spoke before he could. "No, he could _not_ not be him," the angel said.

"What?" Sam said, having trouble parsing the statement. His adrenaline was starting to bottom out, and his brain felt sluggish and stupid suddenly.

"Dude, we don't do that in English," Dean said.

"What?" Castiel asked.

"Double negatives. Not not, we don't do that."

"But you could not not be you," Castiel said.

"Dude, I'm me, I get it. Sam, do you get it?"

"How can we be sure?" Sam asked.

"Because if he were not Dean, I would know," Castiel replied in a matter of fact voice.

"Yeah, Sammy, we've got our very own demon detector," Dean said.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "It would not matter if it were a demon or a shapeshifter or a ghost. If you were not you, I would know."

"Me too," Dean said. He looked frankly exhausted. "Look, fun as this has been, I'm heading to bed." Sam and Castiel watched him trudge across towards the bed, but then he stopped. "Son of a bitch!" he growled without turning around.

"What is it?" Sam asked, rushing over to him.

"Nothing," Dean muttered. "I'm just not gonna poop for a week, now."

Sam's shoulders relaxed. For a moment he'd thought there was something wrong, but poop wasn't a serious issue. He turned towards the bathroom to make a pit stop before bed, but he discovered that Castiel was right behind him. Sam stepped aside and let the angel follow Dean to the bed, then went on. When he came out again, Castiel was standing beside the bed, looking down at Dean. He looked up, met Sam's eyes briefly, and then he was gone. Sam walked across and found Dean already asleep. No doubt he would have nothing but pleasant dreams tonight.

He climbed into bed next to his brother and situated himself for sleep. Dean wouldn't be going to work tomorrow night, not if he could help it.

* * *

Ellen let herself into the downstairs apartment. She and Sam had agreed to split the cooking detail, and all four of them would be eating at Sam and Dean's. She figured it was her morning to cook, because Sam and Dean had been up half the night.

Both boys were in bed when she went in, so she kept quiet and checked out the fridge. Eggs, cheese, bacon, sausage, tomatoes, onions, bell peppers. She pulled out the vegetables and started chopping. Omelets were a specialty of hers.

She heard the springs squeak and turned to see Sam getting out of bed. Dean rolled over flat on his stomach, and Ellen wasn't surprised. Even as tiny boys, they'd been this way. Dean slept as late as he could get away with, and Sam woke up early, even after a short night.

She pulled the eggs out of the fridge and put them on the counter, and got the cheese ready. By the time the skillet was hot enough, Sam had joined her in the kitchen. "How you feeling, kid?" she asked.

Sam snorted. "Spectacular," he said. "Dean came back last night, heard a noise in the basement and investigated solo."

"So?" Ellen asked. Clearly there was more.

Sam leaned against the counter and spoke in a low voice. "He says all he saw was a little girl, and then he slipped and fell and knocked himself out, but . . ." He shook his head.

"But you think it was more?" Ellen supplied, knitting her brows.

"I don't know what to think," Sam said in a throttled voice. "Nothing makes sense, and with Cas so worried . . ."

"Yeah, an angel with a bad feeling is not reassuring," Ellen agreed. She handed Sam an omelet. The boy went and sat down and Ellen started making a second omelet. Jo arrived by the time it was done, and she handed her daughter breakfast.

* * *

"So how is Dean?" Ellen asked.

Sam grimaced uneasily. "He didn't show any signs of concussion, and Castiel didn't seem overly worried when he went to sleep, so –"

"Concussion?" Jo exclaimed, causing both Ellen and Sam to hush her. Sam looked over to see if Dean had woken, but apart from the steady rise and fall of his breathing, he didn't move. "What happened?" she asked quietly.

"Dean slipped and fell last night," Sam said. "It's a long story, and I'm not clear on exactly what happened." He glanced over at his brother. "But –"

Jo let out a shriek and was suddenly pointing a gun at a spot in the kitchen. Sam turned in surprise and jumped up when he saw Cas standing there, holding a white paper bag with some kind of logo on it. "Jo, put that away," Ellen hissed.

Looking embarrassed, Jo tucked her pistol back into her pants.

"Cas, hi," Sam said, a little surprised to see the angel again so soon. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing new," Castiel replied, and Sam grimaced. "I simply brought this for Dean." He gestured with the bag.

"What is it?" Sam asked, taking it.

"Ice cream. He said he wanted some last night as he was falling asleep."

Sam paused in the middle of opening the bag and considered the implications. Then he dismissed the thought because Cas defied definition. He reached in and pulled out the half gallon tub and read the hand written label on the front. Double Chunk Chocolate Mint. Then the logo registered. "Dude, you went to Garcia's!"

Castiel nodded. "Dean said it was the best ice cream he'd ever eaten."

"Last night, he said that?" Sam said incredulously. "He asked you to go to Garcia's?"

"No, he said it on March 7, 2001," Castiel replied. "Last night he simply made a request for ice cream."

"And you went to Vermont to get him some."

Castiel shrugged. "And now I am in a position to state that God is not in Montpelier."

Sam nodded slowly, but his brain wasn't up to dealing with Cas's search for God this morning. He focused instead on the ice cream. "Do you know how much this stuff costs?"

Castiel tilted his head. "No."

"I mean – wait, do you mean you didn't pay for this?" Castiel shook his head. "Are you saying that you stole ice cream?"

"No. I asked for it and they gave it to me."

"And they didn't ask for money." Castiel shook his head again. Sam blinked at him. "Angel mojo?" he asked.

"I do not know," Castiel said. He glanced over at Dean. "Has he awoken this morning?"

"Not yet," Sam replied. "You want him to call you?"

"Please." Then the angel was gone, and Sam shook his head, trying to rid himself of the shock.

"Am I crazy, or did an angel just deliver ice cream for your brother?" Jo asked incredulously. She and her mother had remained silent throughout the interchange, fading back as though to stay out of the way.

Sam put the ice cream tub into the freezer. "You're not crazy," he said.

"Did he just say that God is not in Montpelier?" Ellen asked. Sam thought it pointed up the differences between the two women. Jo asked about ice cream delivery and Ellen asked about God. On the other hand, he knew which one Dean would think had her priorities straight.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, Cas is looking for God. Hasn't found him yet."

"But he's not in Montpelier," Ellen said, her expression going slightly bemused.

"What I can't figure out is how that works," Sam said. "I mean, if God can move around as quickly as Cas can, what's to say he's not in Montpelier now?" He shook his head. "Anyway, I've got to figure out how to keep Dean from going to work today."

"Friday night is a big night in a club," Ellen commented.

"Dean was attacked yesterday, and then he knocked himself out in the basement early this morning. I don't think he needs to be waiting table this evening."

"Not arguing, just making an observation," Ellen said.

"Why is an angel delivering ice cream?" Jo asked.

Sam shrugged abstractedly. "Who knows?"

"I mean, don't you think it's odd that an angel . . . an angel of God . . . is taking time to go to Vermont, of all places, just to get Dean ice cream?"

"He's worried," Sam said, but it sounded inadequate to him even as he said it. "Look, Cas is a law unto himself."

"What else will he do if Dean asks him to?" Jo asked.

"I don't know, Jo, it's never come up," Sam said. He glanced at the clock and wondered if anyone would be at the club yet. But if he called in sick for Dean, he'd still have to go, and then who would keep an eye on Dean? Ellen still didn't have a paying gig, maybe she could.

"An angel at his beck and call," Jo said. "That's an awful lot of power for one man to have."

"I don't think it's quite like that, honey," Ellen said.

"Dean asked for something and the next thing you know it's been delivered?" Jo shook her head. "How is that not like Dean has an angel on a leash? Seriously, would he smite someone if Dean asked him to?"

"Nope."

They all three turned in surprise to find Dean standing a few feet from the table, scratching his head. He looked like hell. The blood from the bruise on his forehead had, as Ellen predicted, drained to rest around his eye socket, giving him the granddaddy of black eyes, and on top of that, he looked completely exhausted, pale behind his freckles.

"How are you feeling this morning, Dean?" Sam asked.

"Like crap," Dean said. "I hate to do it, but I think I'm going to have to call in."

"Good," Sam replied, and Dean's eyebrows went up. "If you didn't, I was going to do it for you."

Dean snorted. "Mama Sasquatch," he said with a faint grin. He walked to the table and sat down just in time for Ellen to deliver an omelet to him. He smiled at her, then looked over at Jo. "Why the question about whether Cas would smite someone for me?"

"Why are you so sure he wouldn't?" Jo countered.

"Because the last time he visited me in the grocery store I asked him to smite a rude clerk for me. He said no."

"You asked him to smite a grocery clerk?" Jo exclaimed.

"It was worth a shot," Dean said, shrugging. "I didn't think he'd do it, it was just . . . you know." He was eating, but not with any real energy. Sam watched him worriedly while Ellen sat down with her own omelet. He began clearing away the dishes so as to have something to do while he watched his brother. Dean would flip if Sam was too obvious about his concern. "Why'd the subject come up, anyhow?"

No one answered for a moment, and Sam looked up to find both Jo and Ellen looking at him. "He brought you ice cream," Sam said, and Dean's jaw dropped. It wasn't a pleasant sight, and Sam's face must have expressed that because his mouth snapped shut again.

After swallowing, Dean said, "He did what?"

"He brought you a half gallon of ice cream," Sam said, and Dean stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Apparently you asked for it last night."

"I didn't . . ." Dean's eyes went vague. "I don't remember asking for ice cream."

"You were pretty out of it, I think."

"So, where's my ice cream?" Dean demanded.

"In the bathroom," Sam said, and Dean's eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but Sam interrupted him. "Dude, where do you think I'd put ice cream?"

"I want some."

"Finish your omelet," Sam replied.

"I'm not ten," Dean said, narrowing his eyes. "If I want to have ice cream for breakfast, I can."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, just eat the omelet. Have the ice cream for desert."

Dean shrugged and started eating again. "What flavor is it?"

"You'll like it," Sam said, certain that if he revealed the true coolness of the ice cream Cas had brought, Dean would insist on skipping the omelet altogether.

Sam started washing the dishes as the others finished with their food. He watched Dean eat as unobtrusively as possible, making sure he really was eating. His appetite seemed to improve as he got more food inside him, which Sam found reassuring.

He got four paper bowls out, and four spoons, then got the ice cream out of the freezer. Dean could undoubtedly eat the whole half gallon on his own, but Sam thought he should share. He began to dish it out and put a serving in front of each of the others before taking his own.

Dean stared at it, and then he gave Sam a look of startled surmise. "It isn't . . ."

"It is," Sam said, showing him the carton before putting it back into the freezer.

Dean glanced at Ellen and Jo, then chortled over his bowl. "You guys are going to love this," he said before digging in.

Sam hadn't Garcia's ice cream since he was about twelve. He took a bite and savored the sweetness of the ice cream and the bitterness of the chocolate.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Dean really felt like crap, and he didn't know why. Gay basher guy had only landed two blows on him, max, and falling down shouldn't have made him feel this rotten. He listened to Ellen and Sam plan out his day with one ear while watching TV. Sam evidently didn't want him to stay home alone, and Ellen was agreeing with him. Castiel's nerves had gotten into everybody, and no one seemed to remember that Sam was the one who'd been sick.

"Sam, if I'm getting sick, I'm going to shoot you," he growled suddenly, and Sam gave him an abstracted look.

Ellen's back straightened. "Now that would be a simple explanation," she said. "He could just be sick."

"He could have the swine flu," Jo put in helpfully.

When Dean saw the expression on Sam's face, he groaned, leaning back on the sofa. "I don't have the swine flu," he muttered. "But if I do, it's your fault, Sammy."

He heard footsteps and then felt a hand on his forehead. "Dean, I think you have a fever."

"I don't have a fever," Dean said wearily. "If I had a fever, I'd have to shoot you, and that smacks of effort."

Sam's hovering presence disappeared, and Dean sighed with relief. In no time at all, however, he was back with a bottle of water. "You need to stay hydrated."

"I'm being punished for being a good brother," Dean moaned, but he took the water and had a swallow.

Sam hovered for the rest of the day until it was time to go to work. At least Dean assumed he hovered the whole time. He lay down after lunch for a nap, and even asleep, he had a sense of his brother hovering nearby. He dreamed of the little girl he'd seen the night before, but in his dream, she turned into an overly friendly dog that wouldn't stop licking whatever it could reach. Seriously creepy. Not the dog so much, but the fact that it had been a little girl. In the dream, Sam came and chased the dog away. When he woke up, Sam was watching him, and Dean glowered at him. Flushing, Sam found something else to do for a while, then, but soon he was back to watching Dean, more covertly now that he was awake, but always keeping an eye on him nevertheless.

Finally, and fortunately for the sake of Dean's sanity, Sam had to go to work, and then Ellen took over. She was considerably easier to bear. She just hung out, researching on the computer and cooking. None of the constant questions about how he was feeling, or any of that crap. She certainly didn't stare at him all day.

When he started feeling like he had eyes on him, he glanced over at her, but she was still focused on her computer screen. He figured then that Castiel would show up soon and put it out of his mind. The Reality channel was showing a marathon of _America's Next Top Model_ , and he was enjoying watching the bodies, even if the women themselves didn't interest him much. After seven, he switched to _Dr. Sexy MD_ , where Dr. Sexy was performing an emergency appendectomy under primitive conditions while hitting on three women at once. He ended up in bed with all three of them, though not at the same time.

The feeling didn't go away. It persisted, but Cas didn't show up. He'd sensed it when Cas watched him before, and this didn't feel quite the same. It felt almost predatory. He grabbed his phone and called the angel.

"Did you only just wake up?" Castiel demanded instantly.

"No, but I didn't go to work today, so I –"

"Didn't Sam tell you to call me when you woke up?" Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. "No, he didn't. Thanks for the ice cream, by the way."

"It was no problem," Castiel said, and Dean almost wished he wouldn't try idiom. He didn't seem to grasp that there was more to it than the words. There was a cadence that he just hadn't managed to catch.

"So, what's your danger sense doing right now?" Dean asked. Ellen must have been paying closer attention than Dean had thought, because her head came up at this question.

Castiel was silent for a moment, and Dean could almost see him evaluating what he was feeling. "I noticed nothing significant," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Dean replied, although the feeling of being watched was actually intensifying. "Have you been . . . around?"

"I am in China," Cas said, his voice growing urgent. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Dean said, trying for casual. "The consensus seems to be that I'm sick, by the way."

"Do you have the pig disease?" Castiel asked.

"Sam seems to think so, but I don't know." Dean shook his head. "Anyway, I just wondered if you were still having the danger feeling, or if it had gone away after last night."

"It is still present," Castiel said. "Where are you?"

"At the apartment, being babysat by Ellen."

"Why would Ellen sit on a baby?" Castiel asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Bye, Cas," he said before flipping his phone shut.

"What was that all about?" Ellen asked. Dean opened his mouth to give her the same tale he'd spun for Cas, but she raised a finger. "And don't give me that nonsense you just handed Castiel. What's up?"

Dean sighed. "I just . . . I feel like someone's watching me. I'm probably just being restless or something, but it's like an itch between my shoulder blades that I can't scratch."

"I take it that it's not Castiel," Ellen said, sitting down beside him.

"No, it feels wrong."

"What, you mean you can feel it when Castiel watches you?"

Dean shrugged. "Sometimes. Anyway, it's probably just me being goofy." The commercial ended and he looked up. Ellen glanced over and gave him a dubious look. "It's a guilty pleasure," Dean said with an embarrassed grin. She put her hand on his knee and got up.

"You need anything, you let me know."

"Sure," Dean said. He sat back and watched Dr. Sexy in action, wondering whether he played both sides of the fence. Gradually he drifted off into a very pleasant dream.

* * *

Ellen waited until Dean was asleep, then crept upstairs and came back down with the fixings to put some wards on the walls. She didn't always take the time, but with Dean being so unsettled, with Castiel and Sam's concerns, she thought maybe it was worth it. She went around the apartment with sage and blessed water, marking sigils on the doors, windows and all four walls. She'd done the floor and was just trying to work out how to get to the ceiling when Dean said, "Ellen, what are you doing?"

She hadn't been altogether sure how Dean would react to her activities. She glanced over with her eyebrows raised. "Warding the apartment," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better, I think." He looked up. "Why are you staring at the ceiling?"

"I need to draw a final ward up there."

"There's a ladder in the basement," Dean said. "I could go get it for you."

"I can manage," she said, thinking only of the fact that he wasn't feeling well. His eyes darted up to hers and there was an odd, uncomfortable look in them that hardened to a stubbornness she recognized from dealing with his father.

"No, I'll get it," he said, and he slid his feet into some shoes.

"Dean, I –" she stared to say, but he interrupted her.

"Back in a few."

Ellen followed him down. He didn't say anything, but she could see that he was irritated by her unwillingness to let him go on his own. He trotted down the stairs and swung around the banister to go down the hall to the basement door. Ellen began to think she was being overly paranoid. He seemed calm enough, crossing the floor of the basement and grabbing the ladder from where it was hung on the wall.

As he came back, he glanced around the room. "I woke up on the floor there," Dean said, pointing with his chin.

Ellen glanced over. "What did you trip on?"

"I don't know," Dean said.

"What did happen?"

He shrugged and put the ladder up against the staircase. "I heard a noise and I came down and there was a little girl, just there." He pointed towards the paper recycling bin, which had overflowed with newspapers and flattened cardboard boxes. "She was trying to make a bed in that mess, and I was going to go upstairs to get you. Thought she'd be scared of me, but she saw me before I could do anything. I came down to try to reassure her, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up, flat on my back. I must have scared the bejeezus out of her."

"I'm sure you did."

"Not a chance in hell of finding her now, though, poor thing."

Ellen snorted. "Not likely."

Dean picked up the ladder again and headed up the stairs. Ellen watched him go, then looked around for a moment herself. She saw no signs that anyone had tried to make a bed in the papers and cardboard boxes, but no doubt plenty of people had been in and out of this room since last night. Shaking her head, she went upstairs and opened the door to let Dean go through with the ladder. He set it up where she indicated, then disappeared into the bathroom. Ellen climbed up and finished the last sigil. It glowed briefly, and she looked around to see all the others flare in the same way. Evidently she'd done it right.

* * *

Dean stared at himself in the mirror. The feeling that he was being watched hadn't lessened in the slightest, all the way down to the basement and back up again. He wanted to scratch the itch, but there was nothing he could do. He'd come into the bathroom because having Ellen watching him was making it worse.

And then suddenly it stopped. He stood up straight, almost creeped out by the sudden cessation of the feeling. He opened the door and looked over at Ellen. She was on top of the ladder and looking around the room. "Did you just finish that thing?"

"I did."

"It worked."

She raised her eyebrows. "I know it did, but how did you know?"

"That feeling I had of eyeballs between my shoulder blades?" She nodded. "It's gone." He shook his head. "Thanks, Ellen."

She climbed slowly down the ladder, putting a bundle of grayish-green twigs and a basin of water aside on the dining room table. "So, whatever it is can be stopped by witchcraft," she said thoughtfully.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe it was some low level angel working for Zachariah."

"Maybe," Ellen said dubiously. "But don't you have something that keeps angels from finding you?"

"From finding my physical location, but Uriel and Lucifer both proved that they can visit dreams anyway. Maybe there's some way they can hitch a ride."

"You mean watch through your eyes?" Ellen asked. Dean nodded. "That's creepy."

"You're telling me," Dean said. "Or it could be a demon spying on me for some reason."

"It could be any of a number of things. Do you think it has anything to do with the case?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I'm sure it doesn't. I don't think anyone has a clue that we're investigating this thing." He shrugged. "On the other hand, I knew you were doing it. If I was imagining it because of Cas and Sam being so paranoid, this could be a placebo effect."

"Do you think that's likely, Dean?" she asked.

Dean looked away. "It's my preference, frankly, no offense to your spellcasting abilities."

"None taken, I don't blame you." She looked closely at him. "Dean, I know you don't want to think you're sick, but you really do look poorly. Go lie down for a while. Get some rest. Lord knows it won't hurt you."

Dean grimaced, but he nodded and went to bed. Ellen sat back at the table and continued looking for spooky patterns in news stories and blogs that contained references to likely paranormal happenings. They needed to keep working, but she really felt, after all that had happened, that she and Jo needed to stick around for Dean and Sam. Something seriously odd was going on.

Dean started jerking around, and Ellen cursed her stupidity in not asking him how to safely wake him from nightmares.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam was busy as hell all night, but since it was Friday and they were one waiter short, that wasn't surprising. When the customers had all left, he started the final clean up of the bar. Not that he hadn't been cleaning all evening. Glasses constantly came in, got washed and went back out again, all night, in a seemingly endless cycle. This time, he washed the glasses as they were brought back to him and put them away to stay for a while. He dumped the mixes that wouldn't keep overnight and washed their containers.

"Sammy?" Martin said.

"Sam," he corrected automatically, turning to face the waiter. To his surprise, Martin was flanked by two of the bouncers, Jes and David. When he'd been introduced to David as Big D, it became immediately clear why Dean was Little D. "What's up?"

"How's Dean?"

"He just wasn't feeling well," Sam said. "He should be fine in a couple of days." When they could find some way to cover up that hellacious bruise.

"Did his 'illness' coincide with the arrival of his friend, Cas?" Martin asked.

Sam blinked at him. "Cas has been hanging around for a while now," he said. "He has nothing to do with Dean not feeling well, I promise."

Martin pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. "How long has Dean been out?" he asked.

It took a moment for Sam to realize what Martin was asking. "Um . . . it . . . I . . ."

"Don't you know?" Jes asked.

Sam grimaced. "I'm not exactly sure, actually," he said, passionately wishing that he and Dean had talked about the answer to that question. "We . . . um . . . we didn't talk for a while, actually a couple of times."

"You didn't talk?" Martin exclaimed. "What, you have a problem with him being gay?"

"I didn't know," Sam said. "That had nothing to do with Dean, it had to do with my dad." He shook his head. "Just, Dean stayed with Dad, and I went to college."

"Right, Dean said you went to Stanford," Martin said.

Sam shrugged. "Dad didn't want me to go," he amplified. "Anyway, no, I don't know when Dean came out. I don't think Dad knew, so it was probably since he died." He decided not to go into any more detail for fear of tangling with whatever Dean had told them. "Regardless, I don't care that Dean's gay, I just . . . find it startling."

"Why?

"Because I remember him in high school," Sam said, desperately trying to play along. He didn't want to be in this conversation, but he couldn't think of a graceful way out that wouldn't offend these guys irretrievably.

David laughed. "Let me guess, he chased every skirt in sight that so much as winked at him."

Sam rolled his eyes. "And caught most of them," he said.

"That's not unusual," David replied. "You should have seen me in college. I still have friends from then who can't believe I'm really gay." Sam had no idea what to say.

Martin was nodding. "And some of those guys turn into total horndogs when they finally accept themselves. It took Paul a while to settle down, for example." Sam knew his face had to be a study of alarm and consternation. Martin reached out and touched his hand. "Don't worry, Dean either isn't like that or he's over it. He hasn't done more than flirt since coming here, and he's had plenty of opportunities, believe me." His brows knit. "Though that's supposedly because of the break up with Cas." He shook his head. "Which brings me back to the point. How much time have you really spent around the two of them together?"

This was a weird situation. Sam was essentially being himself, and while he could lie, he was being Dean's brother in this cover, so he wasn't as readily prepared to lie. His face evidently showed his every thought at the moment, because Martin drew the wrong conclusion from his expression.

"You see, do you even know how long they were together?"

"I know when they met," Sam said. "More than a year ago."

Martin, David and Jes exchanged glances. "But you don't know how long they were together?"

Since Sam didn't think they'd ever been 'together' in that sense, he didn't have an answer. Besides, he had no idea what Dean had told them. He shook his head.

"I'm just worried that Cas is going to suck Dean back in," Martin said. "There's a vibe there, between them, that's hard to miss."

"A vibe?" Sam said. "If you mean the way they were dancing, then –"

"I saw Dean's face when he first caught sight of Cas last night, and he lit up," Martin said. "He didn't look altogether happy to see him, but there was suddenly a new life in his expression. And the way Cas stares at him, it's creepy."

"Yeah, I heard you telling Gerald you thought he had stalker eyes," Sam said.

"I'm not kidding when I say that, Sammy."

"Sam."

"Just keep an eye out, and be there in case Dean needs some support in getting him to go away, okay?" Martin gazed at him earnestly. "Can I count on you for that?"

"Dean always has my support," Sam said, stung.

Martin raised his eyebrows. "Methinks he doth protest too much," he said, glancing at Jes. When Sam would have retorted, Martin held up a hand. "Not my business. Concern expressed, I'll see you tomorrow night. Will Dean be here?"

"I don't know yet," Sam said. "All depends on how he's feeling." He turned back to his job so he could get out of there before two.

Dean rolled over and stared at the window. It was morning. The sky had a distinctly dawn-like appearance. He sat up and looked around. Sam was asleep on the sofa, and Ellen was quietly looking stuff up. He got out of bed and went to get cleaned up before joining Ellen at the table. "You let me sleep through the night," he said accusingly.

Ellen shrugged. "You didn't show any signs of waking up, and I figured it would be good for you."

"What's Sam doing on the couch?"

"He didn't want to risk waking you, given how crappy you felt yesterday." She shook her head and reached up to touch his face. "Your eye looks even prettier today."

"Great," Dean groused. "I've got to go back to work, but Sam's going to bitch."

"You got attacked by a gay basher, Dean. Surely your co-workers will understand that."

Dean shrugged. He had some breakfast, then started going through his calisthenics, trying to keep it quiet in deference to Sam. The morning progressed fairly peacefully. Sam didn't have much to say when he woke up. He grumped about no leads on his way to the bathroom, then took Jo out to get some groceries and other, more esoteric supplies.

After they were gone, Dean gave Ellen a pleading look. "I don't need a babysitter," he said.

Ellen laughed. "I have some things to do upstairs anyway. I'll come down later to fix dinner."

With the apartment empty, Dean reveled in the peace and calm for almost five minutes before turning on the TV. He still really did feel like crud, and if Sam suggested he stay home from work tonight, he decided that he wouldn't put up an argument.

Between two back to back episodes of Judge Judy, a knock came at the door. Dean got up, hoping he wouldn't miss the start of the bickering. He opened the door, prepared for Jerry with a question about the rent, or someone who wanted to save his soul. Instead Martin stood there with Jes, and they both stared at him in shock.

Martin let out a cry of dismay, then said, "It's worse than we thought." Jes nodded gravely, and Dean gave way before them, not sure what was worse than they thought.

"You guys want something to drink?" he asked.

"Your brother said you were sick," Martin informed him, putting an arm around his shoulder and guiding him to the sofa. "Not that you'd been beaten up on."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I haven't been beaten up on," he said. "I –"

"And after our talk last night, I would have hoped he'd recognize what is clearly going on here," Martin went on, as if Dean hadn't spoken.

"Straight guys are clueless," Jes said.

"Not all of them," Martin protested as he sat down next to Dean. He was a managing little guy, and Dean was lost.

"We've got beer and soda, and I think there's some bottled water. You want –"

Martin shook his head and put his hand on Dean's knee. Very soberly, he said, "Dean, we have to talk."

Dean shrugged. "So talk. What's up?"

"How long were you and Cas together?" Martin asked, and Dean blinked at him. "I know it's an invasive question, but we're your friends, and we only have your best interests at heart." Jes was nodding.

Dean gave them a puzzled look. "What do you mean, my best interests?" he asked. "And it wasn't a real . . . set thing, you know. It didn't have a clear beginning."

"And evidently he doesn't think it had a clear end, either," Martin said.

Dean wondered if maybe he'd played up the ex angle a little too much. "Look, it's not like that –" he started, but Martin shook his head, interrupting him.

"It never is," the little guy said. "Dean, you have to understand, I've seen this kind of thing before. It's harder for gay guys to get help when they have these problems. People either don't get it, or they think we deserve it."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I'm a little lost here, guys," he said. "What problems?"

Martin sighed and gave Jes an anxious look. Jes cleared his throat. "Dean, how long has Cas been abusing you?" he asked.

Dean stared at him for several seconds, stunned. "How . . . you've got to be kidding!" he exclaimed. He glanced back and forth between them. "Right?"

"There's no shame in admitting it, Dean," Jes said. "I've been there, I know."

They thought . . . they were nuts. "Cas isn't abusing me," Dean said flatly.

Martin gave him a sorrowful look. "You can say that with the evidence visible on your face?"

Dean's hand went automatically to the cut on his forehead, and Martin nodded, eyes wide with sympathy.

Dean shook his head. "I was attacked by a gay basher in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly," he said.

Jes cleared his throat. "Denial is normal, Dean, but we're here to help you work past it."

Dean developed an insane urge to giggle hysterically. He tromped down on it firmly, knowing that wouldn't convince these two that they were wrong. He was casting around for something to say to convince them that they were smoking dope when the door opened. Dean looked to it for salvation. Ellen, even Sam or Jo, would be a welcome note of sanity in this situation. Castiel walked in, eyes scanning the room as always before settling on Dean. Dean buried his face in his hands. This so had the potential to go very, very badly.

"Dean, I must speak to you," Castiel said.

Dean's head came up at the angel's voice. There was a different note in it than he'd been hearing lately. He might actually have some kind of news. He saw Jes getting to his feet, and barely noted it, he was so focused on what Cas had to say.

Upon seeing Dean's face, Cas's eyes went wide. "Dean, what happened to you?" he demanded.

"As if you didn't know," Martin said.

Castiel ignored Martin and Jes. "Who has done this to you, Dean?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "It was just a gay basher, Cas. He's in jail, he'll be tried, and all is right with the world."

"What is his name?" Cas asked insistently.

Dean shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I have the police report around here somewhere, it probably says, but I didn't really pay attention."

"I don't think that's an act, Marty," Jes said.

Dean thumped his head on the back of the sofa. "No, it's not an act, because Cas has never, ever hit me. Not once."

Cas blinked at him. "The man who injured you cannot be permitted to go unpunished."

"He won't," Dean said. "He's in jail." He turned to Martin. "And Cas didn't do it. There's a police report, witnesses, and a guy in jail."

"Okay, so maybe he didn't hit you this time, but that doesn't mean he never has, and you just have that . . . that vibe."

"What vibe?" Dean demanded.

"Like you expect to be hurt more often than not."

Dean gaped at him, absolutely stunned. He had no idea what to say to that. They took advantage of his inability to speak to shift their focus. "You should really leave," Martin said to Cas. The angel took no notice, remaining silently attentive towards Dean. "Hey! Cas!" Martin growled. Castiel turned towards him. "I'm talking to you."

"Yes?"

Martin seemed a little taken aback by Castiel's full attention. "Um . . . you need to go," Martin said. "Dean doesn't need you."

Cas tilted his head in that bird-like way he had, then he turned back. "Dean, we need to speak," he said.

Jes put out a hand to grab Castiel's shoulder. "Get away from –" Before Jes's hand touched Cas, the angel turned and caught his wrist, causing the man to break off. Cas forced the bouncer's hand away from himself. Jes's eyes bugged out, and so did Martin's.

"Cas!" Dean exclaimed. "Don't hurt him!"

Martin seemed to expand with fury. "If you don't get out of here, I'm calling the cops!"

"Martin, no!" Dean said, grabbing his arm. This was getting out of hand. Then the door opened again, and Dean was ready to go hide in the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers. I love you all for reading. I would love you more if you commented. Well, not more, per se, but I will know more about just who it is I love. :)


	17. Chapter 17

Sam picked up the grocery bag he'd put down to unlock the door and shouldered the panel open. Jo had taken some stuff she'd gotten for her mother straight up to the third floor, so he entered the apartment alone and stopped dead when he saw what was waiting for him. Four men stood in front of the sofa in the midst of an alarming confrontation. Jes and Castiel were facing each other, and Castiel released Jes's wrist as Sam watched. Dean had a hand on Martin's arm, as if he were trying to hold him back from Castiel, and he looked about half-panicked.

"Hey," he said, and everyone but Castiel turned to look at him. "What's going on?"

"Cas won't leave," Martin said. He glowered inimically at the angel. "And I'm still not convinced that he hasn't abused Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Martin. Cas has never been violent with me."

"That is not true," Cas said somberly. Dean closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands in an attitude of despair.

Sam kicked the door shut and put the bags down. "It's not?" he asked, and Dean turned to look at him with dismay.

"It's not like that, Sammy," he said.

"I had no aggressive intent," Castiel added, and Sam raised his eyebrows inquisitively. "I was attempting to keep him silent." Sam's jaw dropped, and he scanned his mind for occasions when that might have come up.

Martin turned towards Dean. "This is what I mean, Dean. He says that like he thinks it's okay. You've got to see things for what they are!"

"It was in the green room," Dean said, and Sam blinked.

"Zachariah?" he asked. He looked over at Castiel. "You were trying to keep Zachariah from hearing something?"

"Yes."

Sam nodded, relieved. "Oh, that makes sense."

"Who is Zachariah?" Jes asked, glancing back and forth between Sam and Dean.

"I prefer to call him Ass-Hat," Dean said.

"He is a very dangerous . . . individual," Castiel said. Sam was grateful that Castiel had caught himself before he'd said 'angel.' Martin and Jes would probably think he'd just edited out something profane. " _He_ has hurt Dean on more than one occasion."

"Enough sharing, Cas," Dean said, giving the angel an alarmed look.

"Who is this guy?" Martin asked.

"No one you'll ever meet if you're lucky," Dean said. "Look, I'd really like it if I could have some time alone. Would everybody please leave? Sam, I'll put the –"

"Dean, we must talk," Cas said.

"Okay," Dean said, sounding exasperated. "Would everyone but Cas leave? I'll put the groceries away if you'll just go hang out with Ellen and Jo." Dean gave him an intent look, and Sam knew what that meant.

"Jes, Martin, let's go," he said.

"But –" Martin protested. Before he could even get to a second word, Jes grabbed his arm and guided him out the door. Sam followed them out, and when the door shut behind them, Martin turned on Jes. "What are we doing? We can't leave them alone together."

"I'll explain later," Jes said, glancing at Sam. "But I don't think things are quite what we thought they were. I'm certain that Cas isn't going to hurt Dean."

"Me too," Sam said. "And I've known him longer than both of you."

"See you tonight, Sam," Jes said.

Sam nodded. "If I can convince him, I think Dean will be staying home."

Martin's brows knit, and he started to speak, but Jes gave him a shove towards the stairs. Sam watched them go, and he wished he dared go back inside. Sighing, he went up to Jo and Ellen's.

* * *

Dean sat back down on the sofa, put his legs on the coffee table and looked at the angel expectantly. Castiel wasted no time. "I have told you that you have a price on your head, that every demon who encounters you wishes to kill you to curry favor with Lucifer?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, and it's been kind of subtle, too, just going by the demons we've run across over the last while."

Castiel didn't seem to get the sarcasm that Dean's dry tone was meant to convey. He gazed at him, unblinking. "My understanding is that the orders have changed," he said in a flat voice. "Lucifer now wants you captured alive and delivered to him."

Dean's eyebrows went up. He sat forward, putting his feet on the floor. "That's . . . new," he said.

Castiel's brows knit. "It is alarming in the extreme. I do not know what his goal is, but he may have grasped that if he has you, he can force Sam to do practically anything."

Dean shook his head. "Sam wouldn't say yes to keep me from getting killed," he said. "We've talked about it."

"Yes, but what if you were being tortured?" Castiel asked. "An angel of Lucifer's strength can keep you alive for months . . . years of torture, and bring you back for more if the need arises."

"Because Lucifer's so much better than Alistair in the torture department," Dean replied sarcastically.

"He is the one who created Lilith," Cas said, his tone growing heated. "He trained Alistair."

Dean gulped and looked down. So much for bravado. He shrugged, faking a calm he didn't feel. "So, I won't get caught," he said. "Anything else?"

"Dean, you must take this seriously."

"I am," Dean replied, spreading his hands ironically. "This is me taking something seriously. I don't do dark and broody."

"I have seen you –"

"Not any more," Dean snapped, and Castiel broke off, looking stuffed. "So, do you think this is the source of your bad feeling?"

"It is possible –"

"There," Dean interjected, "so we're good on that, too."

"– but not likely," Castiel finished, his eyes fixed on Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, I can't be any more careful than I'm being right now, and I've got Sam and Ellen watching me round the clock because your paranoia is contagious. Everything is going to be fine."

Castiel sighed. "I suppose you want me to accept your assurances."

"Dude, stick the thesaurus in a sock," Dean growled. "Yeah, I want you to take my word for it. Can you do that?"

Castiel didn't respond directly, he simply left, the brief sound of beating wings the only sign that he'd ever been there. Dean closed his eyes, sighed, and went to take a hot shower.

* * *

Sam watched Ellen sort through the bags Jo had brought in so far. Some of it was food for up here, but a lot of it was more esoteric, and Ellen was putting it away carefully. Abruptly, Castiel appeared behind her. Sam blinked, then cleared his throat. "Ellen, Cas is here," he said in a calm voice, hoping to keep her from jumping and spilling anything.

She looked up. "Where?"

"Behind you," he said, nodding towards him. "What's up, Cas?"

"May I speak freely?" he asked, indicating Jo and Ellen with flicks of his eyes. Sam nodded, knowing that Ellen would probably stick a knife in him if he didn't agree. "Lucifer's goals with regard to your brother have changed," he said.

"How so?" Sam asked, alarmed.

"He no longer wants him killed. He wants him captured alive." Sam gulped, his eyes going wide at that thought. "I believe it is an attempt to get you to accept your role as vessel."

Sam shook his head. "No way would I say yes," he protested. "Not even to save Dean."

"From death, no, I believe you," Castiel said, and Sam was oddly pleased by the statement of trust. "But if you were forced to witness him being tortured for weeks on end, it might grow difficult to continue refusing."

Sam gulped again. The image called up by Castiel's words disturbed him in the extreme.

"Hey now, it's not going to happen," Ellen said. "No call to freak the boy out."

"The boy, as you call him, needs to know the facts so that he is prepared."

"Does Dean know?" Sam asked, then immediately felt foolish. That had to be why the angel had so urgently wanted to talk to his brother.

"Of course," Castiel replied.

"Why'd you want to tell me separately?" Sam asked.

"Dean has a tendency to try and protect you from such truths, even now," Castiel said.

"You didn't think Dean would tell him?" Jo asked.

Castiel raised his eyebrows at her, but didn't speak. Sam shrugged. "It's been known to happen," he said. "Do you think that's the source of your unease?"

Castiel shook his head. "I do not believe so."

Sam grimaced. "So, Zachariah has every zealot he can find looking for us, Lucifer wants to catch both of us alive, and now there's some other random threat we don't know anything about." Castiel sighed and nodded. "That's just great."

"He said that you were watching him 'around the clock,' but no one is with him now," Castiel observed.

Ellen looked up with a smile. "Sam, honey, why don't you go start dinner? I'm getting hungry."

"Good idea," Sam said. He turned back towards the angel. "Cas –" But before the syllable was even all the way out of his mouth, Castiel was gone. He shook his head and went back downstairs.

The water was going in the shower, and Sam reflected that it was odd how many showers Dean was taking lately. It wasn't like he was doing anything to work up a sweat, though if he was sick, he might feel sweaty and gross. He shrugged and started fixing hamburgers. To his mind, that started with the vegetables for toppings, so he began to slice onions.

After a while – an unusually long while, even for Dean, who had a sybaritic love of hot water – his brother emerged from the bathroom. He was scrubbing at his hair when he came into the kitchen to grab a beer. "I thought I said I wanted to be alone."

"Yes, well, you were alone in the shower," Sam said, glancing anxiously at Dean to see how he was looking. Tired. Grumpy. And all the signs of a heavily suppressed freak out. He shrugged. "And I needed to make dinner."

Dean stared at him for a long moment, then let out a four-letter expletive. "Cas went and told you, didn't he?"

"Weren't you going to tell me?" Sam asked neutrally.

"Of course I was," Dean exclaimed, perhaps a little _too_ emphatically, Sam thought. "But I'm sure Cas put it in the worst possible way."

Sam turned from the stove, three burgers sizzling away behind him. "I'm curious, Dean, what the 'best possible way' could be," he said, gazing expectantly at his brother. "Is there some way where that doesn't equal 'oh shit' that I'm not aware of?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's just more of the same old crap, Sammy."

"Yeah, but people seeking to capture and not kill behave differently – it requires different tactics to avoid that kind of attack. I need to know about stuff like that or I might just do something stupid without realizing it."

"As opposed to doing something stupid when you do realize it?" Dean asked sarcastically.

Sam grimaced and turned back to the skillet. "Whatever, Dean. The point is that I thought we weren't going to have any secrets any more."

"The point is, Sammy, that I didn't get a chance to not tell you, so you can't yell at me for failing to," Dean growled. "Now, are you going to order me to stay home from work?"

"I was going to suggest it," Sam said, not expecting Dean to agree.

"Okay. I feel like shit, so that's probably best. I'm sure Ted doesn't want me passing some crud on to his patrons."

"Undoubtedly," Sam said, mildly alarmed by the thought of something that could keep Dean home when he didn't want to be. Dean just didn't get sick, so it was kind of freaking him out.

"I'll call in."

Sam listened to Dean's call, but there was nothing out of the ordinary in it. It didn't sound like Ted was thrilled, but it also didn't sound like he was offering to fire Dean. He gave Ellen and Jo a call to let them know that dinner was almost ready and started setting things out on the counter, buffet style. Dean made himself a burger immediately and sat down at the table. Sam washed out the skillet and cleaned the various implements he'd used to cook the meal. Ellen and Jo arrived before he'd quite finished and Ellen let out a whistle. "A neat bachelor. I never thought I'd see that."

Sam grinned at her, but then glowered when his brother replied, "Yeah, one of these days, Sammy will make someone an excellent wife. I keep telling him he's a girl."

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't otherwise respond. He knew that was better punishment for Dean than giving him a tongue-lashing. He wanted Sam to growl at him, or he wouldn't poke like that. It only took a few more minutes to finish the dishes, and no one spoke during that time. When he turned around and started making his own burger, he sneaked a glance at Dean and saw that his brother was looking extremely irritable. Feeling quite self-satisfied, he loaded his burger up and sat down with the others.

"I think there's a poltergeist across town that Jo and I should investigate," Ellen said after a while of silent munching.

"Daylight spook, or nighttime?" Jo asked. "I don't work tomorrow night."

"Then it's a date," Ellen replied.

"Dean's staying home again tonight," Sam said. "I –"

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Yet you told Cas that we were watching you, and I got the impression you said it to reassure him." Dean glowered at him. "Seriously, Dean, more than one person is having bad feelings about your safety right now, so you're just going to have to put up with us being a little anxious."

"A little?" Dean repeated. "That's like saying that you're 'a little' geeky." He shrugged. "Besides, Cas doesn't count. He's not a person. He's an angel."

Sam rolled his eyes, well aware that there wasn't much he could say in response that Dean would actually listen to. Ellen gave Dean an exasperated look. "To some people's minds, that makes it all the more compelling," she pointed out.

"Whatever. All I know is that I'm staying home, and there's no need for anyone to watch me. All I'm going to do is sit around, watch TV and do crossword puzzles. Not real interesting, and not particularly dangerous."

"Dean –" Sam started, but before he could say anything else, Dean interrupted him.

"So help me, if someone tries to baby-sit me tonight, I'm going to go out, and no one will know where I am."

"Dean, that's just stupid."

Dean shrugged. "So I'm stupid. We already knew that."

"That's not what I meant," Sam protested. "I just don't think it's wise to leave you alone when Castiel and I both feel like you're in danger."

"So Ellen is a sweater?" Dean demanded. Ellen snorted, so clearly she got the reference, but Sam just shook his head, puzzled. "Something a kid wears when his mother is cold," Dean said sarcastically.

"It's not like that at all," Sam growled.

"Sam, I need some time to myself. Run along to work and leave me be."

Sam tried to come up with another solution. "Maybe you should come to the bar and hang out."

Dean stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "I called in sick, Sammy," he pointed out in a voice more suited for explaining things to a particularly dense two-year-old. "Get over it. I'm staying home, and I'm staying home alone. Ellen put wards up on the walls, so I'm no longer feeling like I'm being watched, and –"

"What?" Sam exclaimed.

"Ellen warded the apartment," Dean said, and Sam knew that his brother knew that wasn't what he wanted to know.

He turned to Ellen. "You warded the apartment?" he asked, purely to throw Dean off.

"All six directions," she said. "Our place, too."

Sam pursed his lips, then turned back towards Dean. "So, what's this about feeling watched?"

Dean shrugged. "It's nothing."

"It is not nothing," Ellen said emphatically.

"Ellen!" Dean muttered remonstratively.

"Dean, what is she talking about?"

"I felt like I was being watched, Ellen put the wards up and it went away. I think it was probably psychosomatic from you and Cas being so paranoid."

Sam ground his teeth. "It's only paranoia if no one's after you, Dean."

"Whatever. You go to work, Jo goes to work, and Ellen goes upstairs and does her research without _America's Top Model_ distracting her."

"I'll just be upstairs, Sam, it will be fine." Both Ellen and Jo joined Dean in an effort to convince him that Dean didn't need constant supervision, and Sam eventually gave way. By then it was time to get dressed for work.

Ellen and Jo went back upstairs while he was getting cleaned up, and Dean gave him a baleful look when he emerged from the bathroom, as if to warn him that he wasn't in the mood for any brotherly bossing. Sam kept his opinion to himself, but he really wished Dean would listen to reason. He wasn't trying to drive him nuts, he was trying to protect him.

Sam put his jacket on over the stupid pirate shirt and zipped it up. "I'll be back around three. You'd better be in bed."

Dean glowered at him. "If I feel like it."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'll see you later." He stomped out of the apartment and down the stairs. Why his brother had to be so damned stubborn was beyond him.


	18. Chapter 18

The club was crowded by nine-thirty, and Ted had called in two guys from their normal days off. He didn't seem remotely upset by Dean's absence, though. When he commiserated with Sam over the idiocies of gay bashing, Sam guessed he knew why.

Several of the customers had picked up on his relationship with Dean, so he fielded questions about Dean's health for half the night. He fed back polite non-answers because he didn't really think random guys had a right to know Dean's every move. One guy hung out at the bar for a good two hours, asking questions about Dean and Sam and their lives. Martin wasn't wrong, there did appear to be a lot of guys interested in Dean. Sam blessed the crowd because he didn't have to work very hard to avoid the questions. He had orders to fill, and the bottles spun rapidly around his workspace as he hurried from drink to drink, making whatever he was asked for. This was the busiest night he'd had thus far, and he had to keep going at a steady pace to keep up.

He delivered the last of a particularly demanding series of drinks to the service area where the waiters stood with their trays ready, and when no one rattled off a new spate of orders, he sighed and leaned back against the rear counter behind the bar. It wasn't till the applause began that he noticed that he had drawn a crowd. He grinned uneasily around at the clapping and cheering audience and began to clean up so he'd be ready for the next rush. The real benefit of it all was that his persistent questioner seemed to have found the crowd intimidating, because he was gone.

At the end of the night, Sam counted up his tips with mounting astonishment.

"All you need is a dance routine, Sammy, and you could be one of them coyote girls," Martin said, settling down on one of the barstools, his shoulders slumped. "How was Dean when you left?"

"Irritated," Sam said honestly. "He hates being laid up."

"That doesn't surprise me," Martin replied. He gave Sam a long look. "So, I guess I understand a little better about Cas, now," he said. "Jes explained it to me."

Sam blinked at him, faintly alarmed by this information. "What did Jes explain to you?"

"About him being autistic, or whatever. Aspergillus or something."

"Asperger's?" Sam asked, his eyebrows climbing.

"That was it."

Sam hadn't thought of it because what was wrong with Cas was so blindingly obvious when you knew he was an angel, but something like Asperger's Syndrome would explain a lot of Castiel's behaviors. "Yeah," he said slowly. "His social skills are non-existent, really."

Martin grimaced. "No kidding. But I'm still uncomfortable with the degree of obsession he shows. I mean, it's all well and good to say he can't help it, that doesn't make Dean any safer."

"I don't believe that Cas would ever knowingly hurt Dean," Sam said. He pocketed the astounding wad of cash and closed down the cage over the bar. "I gotta go. I'm bushed."

"Take good care of your brother," Martin said as Sam headed towards the back room.

That phrase had shaped his and Dean's childhoods in ways that could hardly be missed, just most of the time it had been Dad exhorting Dean to take care of him. It was weird for Sam to have someone telling him to take care of Dean. Sam wished he understood why Dean hadn't given up that mission upon Sam's reaching adulthood. One might think that a guy would surrender a burden like that gladly, but Dean seemed determined to hang onto it.

He'd driven the Impala, just to give Dean that much more reason to stay at home, so he went out to the car, climbed in, and drove back to the apartment. Jo arrived while he was locking up the car, and he waited for her before going inside.

"I can take care of myself, you know," she said with a provocative little head jiggle.

Sam shrugged. "Just thought it would be rude to ignore you."

Jo made a rueful face. "Sorry," she said, and she really seemed to mean it. "A couple of the guys don't like letting me walk out to my car alone. As if I couldn't break them in half with my pinky finger."

"It's not like they know that," Sam said.

"No, they don't, but they might if they keep following me out to my car."

"You do know Dean stopped a rape not far from here, don't you?"

Jo gave him a toothy grin. "I'd like to see them try that with me," she replied.

"I wouldn't," Sam replied. They were on the stairs, heading upwards.

"I'd mop the floor with them."

"Anyone can be overpowered," Sam pointed out. "Hell, Dean got the crap beaten out of him by Paris Hilton not too long back."

Jo stopped halfway up the stairs and stared at him. "What did you say?"

Sam grinned at her. "Paris Hilton beat the crap out of him a month or so back," he said.

"You've met Paris Hilton?" Jo asked, her eyes widening.

Sam felt his face go blank. "Please tell me you're not a Paris Hilton bff," he pleaded.

"What?"

"That's what Dean called it," Sam said quickly. "Are you a fan of –"

"No, totally not," Jo replied. "As if."

"And it technically wasn't Paris Hilton, it was a monster pretending to be Paris Hilton."

"A shapeshifter?"

Sam shook his head. "No, she wasn't a shapeshifter, she was some kind of demi-god from a Baltic forest. She turned into whoever her prey idolized most."

Jo's eyes widened further. "Dean idolizes Paris Hilton?"

"No!" Sam exclaimed. "No, that was the chick she'd grabbed before she caught us."

Jo didn't look like she believed him. "Dean . . ."

"She turned into all sorts of people," he said. "An Abraham Lincoln fan got his brains shot out by a facsimile of our sixteenth president, and another guy got ganked by James Dean." He shivered. "For Dean she was going to turn into our father."

Jo's brows went up. "Creepy."

"Very."

"What would she have turned into for you?"

Sam cleared his throat and looked away. Before Jo could persevere, the door at the top of the stairs opened. "Dude, some people are trying to sleep," Dean said. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt. "Are you going to come inside, or just keep talking loudly on the steps, because if you were trying to be considerate, you failed."

"You're supposed to be asleep," Sam said, glaring.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I _was_ asleep," he replied. "What about that was unclear?"

"You didn't say you were asleep, you said some people were trying to –"

"Whatever," Dean interjected. "Why don't you two . . . get a room?" He shut the door firmly behind him and Sam glanced over at Jo. Her expression implied disgust at the very notion, and he grimaced, vaguely offended even though he felt more or less the same way.

He walked up the remaining steps and tried to open the door. Dean had apparently locked it. He unlocked it and tried again, but the damned thing wouldn't budge. There was a sort of spongy feel to it, though. "Dean, would you get off the door?" he growled.

"Go away."

Irritated, Sam gave a mighty shove. Dean let out a grunt and stumbled away from the door. Sam pushed the door open and walked in.

Dean glowered at him. "Jerk."

Sam gave him a snarky grin. "Bitch," he replied in a reversal of their usual pattern.

Dean's brows knit, and Sam suddenly recognized the sleepy-Dean face. Maybe he had been sleeping. That would explain the grumpiness. "You're the bitch . . . bitch . . ." Dean shook his head. "I'm going back to bed."

"Dean, wait," Jo said, and Sam turned, not sure what she wanted. "Can I ask you a quick question?" Dean shrugged. "Who did that Baltic demi-god turn into for Sam?"

It was too late to head her off, and there was no chance in hell Dean would be able to resist needling him with it. "Gandhi," Dean said with a taunting glance at Sam. "Apparently he's a fruitarian, so Sam's idol is a fruitarian midget who wore a diaper and bifocals."

"He was not a midget," Sam protested.

"I note you don't refute any of the other points." Sam was about to inform Dean that Gandhi's traditional clothing was in no way a diaper, but before he had a chance Jo spoke.

"Sam's idol is Gandhi?" she asked, and Dean nodded. "The man who didn't believe in revenge, who advocated peaceful protests even in the face of violence, that Gandhi?"

Dean got this unholy grin on his face. "That's him," he said, shooting Sam another glance. "I didn't have the heart to bring it up, though."

Sam ground his teeth. "I'm going to the bathroom."

Behind him, he heard Jo apologizing to Dean for waking him. He turned on the water and stared at the wall. Dean hadn't really lived up to all of his idol's ideals, either, though he'd hit most of the ones worth living up to.

When he came out a while later, he found Dean sitting at the table with two bowls of ice cream in front of him. Since one was clearly placed in front of an empty chair, Sam walked across and sat down. "Sorry, Sammy, that was hitting a little below the belt."

Sam shook his head. "No, it's true." He took a bite of ice cream. "I guess it's something to work towards."

Dean shrugged. "Non-violence could be kind of inconvenient in our line of work, Sammy."

Sam snorted. "That's true, but –"

"Eat your ice cream, Sammy. You need your sleep."

Sam dug into the ice cream and sighed. Dean never would talk about things, so Sam just had to hope that nothing was festering.

* * *

Sammy never stopped thinking. Sometimes Dean thought his brother needed to turn his brain off from time to time, but it never happened. That was at least half of the reason he kept trying to get the boy laid. Hard to keep thinking while you were giving someone a joyride. Or, he thought, considering some of his encounters, getting a joyride from someone else. They ate ice cream and talked inconsequentials, then they went to bed.

The next day passed fairly peacefully. Jo and Ellen were getting ready for their hunt that night, and Sam wasn't protesting Dean's decision to go back to work. He hadn't been out of the apartment in more than a day, and he had to get out. They both got ready, and Dean's 'tan' was developing nicely. He'd continued to treat the skin since the stuff said it got more intense the more frequently it was applied. Before long he'd be the hottest fake gay guy in the state.

Sam looked at him when he came out of the bathroom and said, "Dude, do you have any idea how vain you are?"

"Ain't nothing wrong with being proud of what God gave you."

"And Bath & Body Shoppe," Sam added, giving the 'tan' a dubious look.

"That, too," Dean said, grinning. He gave Sam a light smack in the gut. "Lighten up. I've got to look good, right? I'm the bait."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue. Dean pulled on his coat and zipped it up, then followed his brother out of the apartment. As soon as he passed through the door, the feeling of being watched was back. It almost seemed stronger, but that might just be because he hadn't felt it since Ellen had finished her little spell.

He decided not to say anything. It could just be paranoia at work again. After all, he knew where the spell ended, and between Cas and Sam, he had enough input to cause nightmares.

Returning to the club felt like coming home. All the guys were glad to see him, he got lots of advice on what to do about the fading black eye, and he fell back into the rhythm of the job. He wondered, sometimes, whether if he ever stopped hunting, he'd be able to hold down a normal job. He still didn't know, but he was enjoying this one so far.

The club had live music most nights, and when they arrived, Dean could see that they were due for the house band tonight. He knew George and Bill were occasionally annoyed when Ted bumped them for a better known band, but they didn't kick too hard about it. Most of the time it was a steady gig, and in this economy, that was nothing to be sneezed at.

Once customers started to arrive, Dean started getting a lot of sympathy for the black eye, and no few offers of comfort. He turned them down politely and kept moving through the crowd, making sure his section of the club stayed properly hydrated – and documented. He snapped shots of various couples around the bar in between taking the drinks to help the fellows hydrate.

The thought occurred to him that Sam would probably remind him that alcohol was more dehydrating than hydrating, but in the privacy of his own mind, he shouldn't have to put up with that crap. He made a mental note to kick Sammy later.

The feeling of being watched never went away, but it became background noise after a while. He stopped turning around to see who it was, just continuing to take photos of all and sundry.

Before they'd even been open very long, Dean noticed that George's voice was very clearly giving out. He sounded like he was trying to sing through a bad cold, and Dean wondered if they were going to have to shift to canned music for the remainder of the night. Dean grimaced as the singer hit a particularly rough patch. He started to slide around a guy who was in his path, but he guy shifted sideways. Dean glanced up into his face to see if he was deliberately blocking him or if it was an accident. He blinked in surprise. "Officer . . . Wilson, was it?"

The police officer nodded. "Call me Jack," he said over the crowd noise. "I'm not on duty."

Dean gave him a once over and reflected that Jack Wilson hadn't had any trouble getting into Woody's. He looked hot, even in pretty ordinary chinos and polo shirt. He grinned. "Sure, Jack," he said. "I'd love to chat, but I've got to get these orders in."

"Do you have a break coming up?"

"Give me twenty minutes," Dean said and Jack faded back. Dean went to give his orders to Sammy, but his brother stopped him before he could speak.

"Dean, who was that guy you were just talking to?" he asked in an undertone.

Dean glanced over at Jack. "He's one of the cops who arrested my gay basher," he said.

Sam blinked at him. "Oh, I thought – he was asking a lot of questions about you yesterday."

Some alarm bells went off in Dean's head. "What kind of questions?"

"Just . . . how you were, if you had someone to look after you." Sam shook his head. "They make sense now that you've told me who he is."

Dean nodded. "He's probably just here to check up on me." Dean gave Sam his orders and waited while he made them, then when he could finally break away, he went and sat down in a corner with Jack. "How goes things?" he asked.

"I was going to ask you that," Jack said. "Your eye looks terrible."

Dean shrugged. "I've had worse."

Jack grimaced. "I hope not under similar circumstances," he said.

Dean wondered what Jack would think if he knew that Dean thought a gay basher was small potatoes. "Car crash," he said without elaboration. "So, you just checking up on me?"

Jack gazed solemnly at him, a twinkle in his eye. "Well, I did tell Steve that I would find out how you were doing."

"I'm good. You alarmed Sammy yesterday, by the way."

"Sammy?"

Dean gestured with his chin towards the bar. "My brother, the extreme bartender," he said as Sammy threw a bottle of tequila into the air where it spun twice before landing securely in Sammy's hand again. "He said you were asking a lot of questions about me."

Jack stared at Sam for a moment longer, then turned back. "He was just the easiest to get to stay in one place for a while. I didn't know he was your brother. You guys don't look much alike."

"We just look like different parts of the family," Dean said.

They chatted for a while, but Dean knew he had to get back to work. He noticed one of their regulars standing alone, looking lost. He beckoned to him, and Benji walked over. "Jack, let me introduce Benji. Benji, this is Jack. He's one of the cops who dealt with the gay basher who got me."

"Hey, nice to meet you," Benji said.

Dean grinned at both of them. "I have to get back to work, but I'll check up on you guys later."

He glanced at them periodically over the next hour and noticed that they seemed to be getting along famously. The music stopped and he glanced up at the stage. George had been sounding worse for a while, so he wondered if they would be switching over to the sound system. Then Bill stepped up to the mike, his guitar still slung across his front. "Hey there, everyone!" he said, and there was a general response of greeting before everyone quieted down. "As you may have noticed, George isn't feeling too hot, but we thought that might be kind of an opportunity. We know a few of you, both customers and staff, have voices that you're hiding under bushels, so we'd like to ask some of you to come on up and sing a song or two."

For a moment nobody said anything. Nobody even seemed to move. Dean figured the ice needed to be broken. "Hey, Sammy!" he called out, and his brother turned towards him with wide eyes. "Sammy can sing! Come on, bro, hit 'em with some Beyoncé."

"Only if you want to clear the club," Sam said flatly.

There was general laughter, but despite the irritated look Sam was giving him, the ice had been broken. Bill cleared his throat. "Well, Dean, if you're willing to volunteer your brother, are you willing to come up here yourself?"

Sam grinned at him maliciously, and Dean decided to throw caution to the winds. He was trying to draw attention after all. If he butchered the song, no one would care. He walked up to the stage amid much encouragement and walked over to Bill. Bill raised his eyebrows and covered the mike. "You'll do it?"

Dean glanced over at his brother and nodded. "'Single Ladies,'" he said.

Bill laughed and called the name out to the other guys of the band. After a moment, they started the syncopated clapping that opened the song. Dean pulled the mike off the stand and waited for the right moment, then started in. "All the single ladies! All the single ladies!" He glanced at Sam again and saw his brother's head snap up. He kept his laughter internal and gave himself over to the music. It was a fun song, one that the crowd always loved when George did it, and he let himself rock out a little. When it was over, there was actually applause and Dean started to put the mike back on its stand.

"How about another?" Bill suggested, drifting up behind him.

Dean glanced at him. "Haven't I tortured everyone enough already?"

"Come on, one more," Bill said.

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged. "'Heat of the Moment,'" he said off the cuff.

"Good pick," Bill replied and called it to the others.

Dean was a little startled, but he shrugged and listened to the run up to the vocal, the intro or whatever it was called. He caught sight of Sammy's face just before it was time to start singing and it was a study in controlled fury. He threw his brother an answering grin and started. "I never meant to be so bad to you . . ."

After a third song, he insisted on relinquishing the stage, pointing out that he had work to do. He had just reached floor level when Ted reached his side. "Get back up there," he hissed. "The crowd is loving it, and we're not so short on people that we can't spare you to keep the music coming."

Dean blinked at him. "You don't actually think I sound good, do you?"

"Just get back up there!" Ted replied.

"Yes sir, boss," Dean said, surprised by his vehemence. "Okay." He went back up onto the stage. "I've been ordered to keep singing," he said to Bill. "Is George going to get mad?"

Bill shook his head. "George will be fine." He nodded towards the bar. "He's busy trying to sweet talk your brother out of a hot toddy."

Dean shrugged and picked up the microphone. "You guys got any AC/DC on tap?"

"Sure."

"'You Shook Me All Night Long'?" he suggested.

"Works for me."

They went on a tour of Dean's favorite music with a few extras thrown in to fry Sammy's brain. Like 'You Ain't Woman Enough' by Loretta Lynn and 'Poker Face' by Lady Gaga.

By the time the night was over, Dean was hoarse and devoutly hoping that George would be singing by Wednesday. He accepted the hot tea that Martin gave him and went into the break room to get his jacket. It always took a while for Sammy to finish up. He pulled on his coat and settled in a chair with his tea.

Bill came up and deposited a pile of cash in front of him. "Your share of tonight's tips."

"Dude, no way," Dean protested.

"You missed out on your normal tips," Bill pointed out. "And you should think about singing with a band. You don't suck."

"Thanks," Dean said dryly.

"Honestly, you sound pretty good, and you sure as hell know a lot of songs."

"I drive all the time, dude. Gotta do something to keep yourself occupied."

Bill grinned. "Well, you can fill in for George any time. Catch ya later."

Dean ran through the cash and then stuffed in his pocket, mildly impressed by the size of the stack. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up. Guys came in and through and left, a couple of them being embarrassingly effusive over Dean's singing. Finally Sam came in. Dean grinned up at him, cradling the now empty tea mug in his hands.

"I should kick your ass from here back to the apartment," Sam growled. Dean raised his eyebrows at him in mock-innocence. "Asia. I wanted to come up there and shove that mike down your throat."

"That seems a bit excessive, Sammy," Dean said, climbing to his feet.

Sam was still actively bitching when they reached the apartment. An appetizing aroma came from inside. He opened the door and the smell of cinnamon and sugar came rushing out. Dean had ceased listening to Sam a while back, but he was aware of a grumpy muttering as they crossed to the dining table where there was a coffee cake sitting in the middle, steaming slightly, especially from the spot where two pieces had already been cut out. Ellen reached out and began cutting more pieces.

"How was the hunt?" Dean asked.

"We're going to go find the grave tomorrow, I think," Jo said.

"Cool."

Dean immersed himself in the coffee cake, but Sam just couldn't seem to let it go, stewing and shooting Dean irritable looks. Finally, Jo turned to him. "What is wrong?" she asked.

"Dean just took great pleasure in needling me tonight," he said.

"I was just doing my job, Sammy," Dean said piously. "That it got on your nerves was just a . . . a happy coincidence."

"'Heat of the Moment'?" Sam demanded. "And don't tell me you didn't have a choice, I asked Bill whose idea it was, and he said it was yours."

"What's wrong with that?" Ellen asked. "It's not a bad song."

"Yes, well, I've heard it more times than anyone should ever have to, and not under the best of circumstances."

"Oh, I don't know, every time you heard it, it meant I was alive again."

"No, it meant that you had died again," Sam growled.

"This sounds like an interesting story," Ellen said.

Dean shrugged. "We got stuck in a time loop by the archangel Gabriel who was undercover as a trickster, and who evidently thought it was funny to kill me in myriad different ways." Sam gave him an odd look, and Dean raised his eyebrows. Sam looked away, and Dean abruptly realized this wasn't Sam's usual emo crap. His eyes narrowed. "Yes, I know _myriad_. Just how stupid do you think I am?" Sam glowered at him, and Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't think I want to know the answer to that."

"Dean, you can't get mad about this, you play dumb most of the time."

"I do not play dumb!" Dean protested, and Sam raised his eyebrows, looking insufferably smug. "You know what I mean!"

Jo blinked at them, and Dean prepared for some snarky remark. "Maybe I'm glad I didn't have siblings," she said.

"They can be a pain in the ass," Ellen agreed. "You're talking about _Mystery Spot_ , aren't you?"

Both Sam and Dean turned to her in surprise. Dean found his voice first. "I forgot you told us you read those."

"They make for fascinating reading," Jo said, giving Dean a coy look that had him flushing to his hairline.

He cleared his throat and looked away, but the amusement Jo was radiating got to him. "How would you like it if someone you knew had read the collected works of your life – that intimately portrayed?" he demanded.

"Oh, come on, Dean, you have nothing to be embarrassed about," Jo said.

"JoAnna Beth!" her mother said warningly.

"Well, he doesn't. Let's face it, he and Sam are awesome." Both of them raised their eyebrows at her. "As hunters," she added hastily. "People like Gordon Walker should just be ashamed of themselves."

Dean nodded, but Sam cleared his throat. "Actually, Jo, Gordon was right," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're not the anti-Christ, Sam," he snapped. "We've met him."

"What?" Jo exclaimed.

"Lucifer?" Ellen asked at the same time.

"Jesse," Dean said.

"Yeah, Dean, we met him," Sam retorted. "He was a cute little kid. And _he_ said no."

Dean had decided that the best way to deal with Sam in this mood was not to commiserate with him. "Dude, you're whining again."

"I am not whining!" Sam grumped. Dean raised his hand and made the universal gesture that meant he was playing the world's smallest violin. "Dean!"

Dean sighed. He turned to Ellen and Jo. "And yet with all of this angst, and melodrama, and self-loathing, he still finds time to be pissed at me for singing 'Heat of the Moment'."

"Singing?" Ellen repeated.

"Oh, yeah, the singer for the house band has a cold, so they invited volunteers to sing with the band for a while. I volunteered Sammy." Sam rolled his eyes. "They decided they liked me better, so I wound up singing half the night. I confess, I chose a few songs to get Sammy's goat."

"Like 'Heat of the Moment,'" Sam pointed out.

"Like 'Single Ladies," Dean corrected.

Jo let out a bark of laughter. "You sang 'Single Ladies'?" she asked. Dean nodded. "Beyoncé 'Single Ladies'?"

"Yup," Dean said.

"What is 'Single Ladies'?" Ellen asked.

Jo reached into her pocket for her iPod. Her mother stared at her. "You take that on hunts?" she demanded.

"I have three exorcisms recorded on here," Jo replied. "And I've used them."

"Awesome!" Dean exclaimed. "Dude, I so need that. I never can memorize them. Apparently I order pizza when I try to do them from memory."

"What?" Sam exclaimed.

Dean shrugged. "That's what Casey said."

Jo put her iPod in the middle of the table, and it started playing the song. Ellen listened, her eyes growing slowly more amused as the song progressed. About halfway through, she laughed. "You sang that to a bunch of gay club guys?" she asked.

"And they loved it," Sam said sourly. "How come you never told me you could sing?"

"How come you never told me you could tend bar like that?" Dean asked.

"I told you I could tend bar."

"And you've heard me sing."

"Not like that," Sam replied.

"And you didn't tell me you were an extreme bartender, just that you'd supported yourself through some of college by working as a bartender."

"What difference does it make?" Sam asked.

"None. You're the one who was making a fuss about not knowing I could sing."

Ellen stood up. "On that note, I think it's time for us to go and leave you two alone."

"I am feeling a little sleepy," Dean said, stretching. "And Sammy needs his rest. Still recovering from the –"

"Recovered, thank you," Sam said. "You can stop the –"

"Good night," Jo interjected, and she and Ellen made their escape.

Sam glowered after them. "The mother hen crap is getting old."

Dean shrugged. "Good night, Sammy."


	19. Chapter 19

Ellen opened the door of Sam and Dean's apartment at about eleven in the morning. She wasn't surprised to find both of them in bed, though it was sweet to see them curled up to one another. She pulled out her cell phone and took a photo, then texted it to Bobby. He'd get a kick out of it, she had no doubt. She included the message, "Blackmail material for future use." Then she got started making a hash brown casserole.

Jo had borrowed Sam's car to go down to the county offices and do some research. Ellen figured she'd better make the boys breakfast. Jo could sustain herself for the morning on a cup of yogurt. Sam and Dean had heartier appetites.

It was at times like this that she wished John hadn't been so freaked out about Bill's death. She would have liked to watch those two boys grow up, and she might have gotten that chance if John had simply overcome his dismay and returned to visit her. As it was, the only female attention either of them seemed to have gotten came from girlfriends and one-night stands.

However, there wasn't much point to worrying about it. The past was past and couldn't be changed. All she could do was provide them with some mothering at this stage in their lives. They seemed to like it well enough.

She slid the casserole into the oven and turned around to see Sam struggling out of his brother's embrace. It was apparently not terribly easy, and she watched the way Dean clung to Sammy with amusement – and a little sadness.

"Dean, let go!" Sam murmured intensely. Dean released him and rolled over, muttering discontentedly. Sam stood up and saw her watching. His lips compressed, and he hurried into the bathroom. Ellen suddenly felt like some kind of extremely rude voyeur.

She bustled about, cleaning up the dishes she'd used to prepare the casserole and tidying away some of the mess that Dean had left. She knew it was Dean because Sam seemed to be a bit of a neat freak. She dimly remembered that from when they were small. Give the pair of them an ice cream cone and Dean's whole body would get involved with enjoying it, but even at three, Sam would eat it neatly and somehow avoid getting it all over his face.

When Sam emerged from the bathroom, Ellen was sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee. He went over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup, then joined her.

"I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Ellen said.

"No big deal," Sam replied, but she thought he was fibbing. "Dean's just . . . sometimes he gets like that after a bad night. It's been a while since we shared a bed, but there've been occasions in the last year or so when I would try to wake him out of a nightmare and he would . . ." He flushed and glanced over at his brother. "I'd end up in bed with him because it seemed to offer him comfort. He doesn't know, because I always wake up first." He grimaced. "It probably would have happened more often if I hadn't kept sneaking out while he was asleep."

"The past is past, Sam," Ellen said. "It's better to focus on now, when you can actually have an effect."

Sam nodded, but he didn't seem satisfied with the answer. Dean rose a few minutes later, though he looked more like he was sleepwalking than like he was awake. He stumbled into the bathroom and disappeared for a lot longer than she thought was normal. Apparently, Sam agreed with her, because he got up and pounded on the bathroom door. "Dude, at this rate, you're going to drown yourself." Ellen heard an irritated rumble from inside the bathroom, but at this distance it was incomprehensible. "Ellen's making breakfast," Sam called. With that, he walked away from the bathroom and returned to the kitchen where he refilled his own coffee and poured another cup, presumably for Dean. He sat down and put the extra cup of coffee at an empty place.

The timer went off, and Ellen got up to check on the casserole.

Before she'd finished pulling it out, Dean had come out of the bathroom, hair slick with damp, but dressed and reasonably awake. He glowered at Sam and sat down in front of the cup of coffee Sam had poured for him. One swallow seemed to revive him considerably, and when she deposited a paper bowl full of hash brown casserole in front of him, he looked up with a grateful smile.

"So, what do you boys have planned for today?" Ellen asked.

"Not a lot," Sam said. "I figured if you had digging to do tonight, we could help you out." Dean nodded.

"I thought we were keeping you boys away from our investigations, to preserve your cover," Ellen said.

"Going around and asking people questions is one thing," Dean pointed out. "Going after dark to a graveyard isn't nearly so obvious."

Ellen was considering the truth of that when a familiar rock anthem began playing from across the room. Dean rose and went to his black jeans, which he'd left in a pile on the floor, and dug in the pocket. He looked at the read out on the front, raised his eyebrows at Sam and answered. "Hello?" There was a pause. "This is Dean, hi Jack." Sam looked up and glanced over. "Questions?" Dean shrugged. "No plans for today, so I can come down . . . two? Sure." He nodded. "Okay, Jack." He hung up. "Evidently the cops have a few questions about my statement," he said.

Ellen nodded, but Sam looked worried. "Is that normal?"

"I think so," Dean said. "Besides, I think it might be an excuse for Jack to see me again."

"Who is Jack?" Ellen asked.

"Officer Wilson," Dean replied. "One of the cops who picked up the gay basher. He showed up at the club last night, and I picked something up on gaydar from him."

Sam's eyes widened. "You have gaydar?" he demanded.

Dean shrugged, and Ellen gave Sam an amused look. "Sure, Sammy, most people know who is and isn't gay. Ellen, don't you?" She sort of shrugged assent.

"Well, I don't," Sam groused.

"Sorry, Sammy, it requires observation and perception."

"I'm observant," Sam protested. Dean just looked at him, and Sam looked away. "I'm . . . anyway, if you're meeting Jack at two, we'd better get going." Sam stood up and walked over towards his jacket.

"Hold up, Sammy," Dean said, and Sam stopped, turning towards him with his eyebrows furrowed. "I'm going alone. I'm not some kind of pathetic wuss who needs my brother to hold my hand when the cops have questions."

"Dean, it's not –"

Dean grabbed his coat and keys. "Catch you guys later," he said. "Ellen, great casserole. I'll have some more when I get home."

Ellen watched him leave and glanced over at Sam. The younger brother returned to the table and sat down heavily. "If our positions were reversed, Dean would be hovering like I was made of something breakable. If I try to hover, he makes fun of me."

"That's how it goes, Sam," Ellen said, not without sympathy. "You want some more? Otherwise I'm going to put it away in the fridge."

Sam shook his head, but he got himself another cup of coffee. "What do you mean, that's how it goes? I really don't get it."

"What don't you get?" Ellen asked.

"Why Dean is so . . . I mean, we all know that my dad put way too much responsibility on him, right? I mean, he was looking after me solo when I was four and he was eight."

"Younger than that, sometimes," Ellen said. "I know Bill wanted him to leave you boys with me more."

Sam blinked at her. "Did he?"

Ellen nodded. "But John seemed to think you were safer on the move. Never did explain why, but I think I've got a pretty good idea."

Sam shrugged. "But after so many years of that burden, you'd think he'd give it up with relief, but he just doesn't seem to want to let it go."

Ellen stared at him and sat down herself, another cup of coffee warming her hands. "'Want to' isn't really the point, Sam. He can't. It's not the kind of burden, or task, or whatever, that you can just 'give up. Once you accept it, it's yours for life. It's not like I could just decide to stop worrying about Jo."

Sam shook his head. "Yeah, but you're her mother. Dean's not my father. I had one of those."

Ellen nodded slowly. "So, who shopped with you for your school supplies, nine times out of ten?"

"Dean," Sam said readily, as though not altogether certain why she was asking.

"Who helped you pick out clothes?"

"Dean."

"Who cooked your dinner? And took care of you when you were sick?" Sam's lips were beginning to compress, which she took for a realization of where she was heading with this. "Who checked up on you when you were late home from school?"

"Dean," he said finally.

"And who walked you to class on the first day of school?"

"Not just the first day, sometimes," Sam admitted reluctantly.

"Who taught you how to deal with bullies?"

"That got us both in trouble with Dad when I got suspended."

Ellen laughed, but she wasn't done. "Who forged your permission slips?"

"I get it, Ellen, but that's my point. It had to have been a huge burden. Why not let it go when I got old enough to take care of myself?"

"Because it doesn't matter how old you are when you start raising a child, Sam. Once you start, you simply don't stop. My sister Bethany mothered me till the day she died, and by then I'd been married two years and had a year-old daughter."

Sam blinked at her, clearly having trouble grasping the idea. "But . . ." He shook his head. "Did you guys have a mother?"

"Sam, Dean was your father in most of the ways that count . . . John wasn't there often enough to fill that role."

Sam grimaced. "And when he was there, he treated us less like sons than like recruits. After I found out the truth, that is."

"And how old were you when that happened?"

"Seven," Sam said. "Christmas, 1990."

Ellen shook her head. "Did John tell you?"

"No," Sam said. "Actually, he was pretty pissed off when he found out."

"Did Dean tell you?"

Sam shrugged. "He confirmed it, but I'd read Dad's journal. Unless he was going to tell me that Dad's journal was outright lies, he didn't have much choice."

"And who was John mad at about you finding out?"

Sam snorted. "Dean. He was in charge, and he didn't keep me . . . okay, Ellen, I get it, I guess." He sighed. "I just wish . . ."

"You wish Dean would let you grow up," Ellen said. "Jo wishes I'd let her grow up. That is a perpetual stress between youngsters – however old they get – and those who raised them. It's just more complicated when that's a set of siblings."

Sam sighed again. "So it's not that he thinks I'm a kid?"

"Sure it is. When he looks at you, he sees a three-year-old he has charge of. When I look at Jo, I still see the little girl in pigtails. It's the way of the world, Sam. We try our best, but certain factors will always make us revert."

"Like me getting the swine flu."

"Exactly. Just . . . be aware of it, and only challenge it when it matters. Otherwise you'll spend way too much time fighting. And don't take it personally. It's an expression of love."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, then wandered off. He threw away his bowl, then got his computer and sat down to work. Ellen decided it would be best to let her words percolate for a while. She got her computer and started working herself.

* * *

Dean escaped from Jack with nothing more than a promise of coffee at a later date. The questions hadn't taken long, and Jack had walked him out of the building. Dean waved again and climbed into the car. The feeling of being watched was almost becoming familiar. He flipped on the radio and started driving back to the apartment.

Something had to give in this case sooner or later. Dean was beginning to hope it was sooner just so everyone would get off his case about Castiel's paranoia. This made nearly five weeks since he'd come to Salt Lake. He knew there was something going on, but he could not find the right string to pull.

It wasn't till he'd parked the Impala in an unfamiliar parking lot that he realized that he had been woolgathering. He wasn't altogether sure why he'd parked the car, but then he found himself getting out. He turned around and saw the building belonging to the parking lot. It was a restaurant, and it seemed vaguely familiar now that he was looking at it. He'd been to Salt Lake before, by himself and with Dad. The first time he remembered was when he was about nine. Maybe Dad had brought him here once long ago.

He walked inside. It was a diner-style place, with booths and a counter with stools. He took up a stool and picked up the menu that was stuck in a bracket in front of the spot. The waitress stopped by, her name was Rhonda, and he ordered a bacon cheeseburger and fries.

Someone came and sat down next to him, and he glanced over incuriously at him, then stopped in astonishment. "You," he said.

The man from Woody's smiled. "Hi again," he said, brown eyes full of warmth.

"Look, I'm kind of in a bad place as far as relationships go," Dean said, turning away from those eyes. They felt almost dangerous, like he would sink into them if he looked at them for too long. He remembered that kiss from more than a week ago with searing intensity, and he felt he needed to make things clear. "I'm not looking for anyone."

"I know you're not," the man said. "But sometimes we find what we're not looking for."

Dean shrugged. "Seriously, I'm not interested."

"I saw you sing last night. You were very good."

"Thanks," Dean said. He hadn't noticed the guy last night, but he'd been a little occupied for half the evening. "Not my usual gig."

"I'm surprised. You have a great voice, and there's kind of a luminous presence to you. It's very appealing."

Dean didn't quite know what to say to that, but Rhonda rescued him by delivering his Coke at that moment. He removed the paper from his straw and dropped it in the drink.

* * *

Sam was reading an e-mail from Darius – another hunter – regarding unusual shapeshifter dens he'd encountered, when Ellen drew in a breath sharply. "Don't _do_ that!" she exclaimed, looking over his shoulder.

Sam turned around and looked at Castiel. The angel looked anxious, alarmed. "What is it?" Sam asked, his heart speeding up a little.

"Where is Dean?" Castiel demanded.

"He went by the police station," Sam said. "They had questions, I guess."

"You let him go out alone?" Castiel exclaimed. "What police station? Where?"

Ellen gave him the address and Castiel was gone. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed Dean's number, but after four rings, it went to voice mail. "Dean, call me as soon as you get this message," he said. "Where are you?" He hung up and looked at Ellen.

"I'd like to say I'm sure it's nothing," she said. "But I'm not."

Sam nodded and pursed his lips, not sure what he should do next.


	20. Chapter 20

"So, is Woody's your only job?" the man from Woody's asked Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said. "What do you do?"

"Independent contractor," the man said, and he reached under the bar to Dean's knee, squeezing it gently.

Dean put his hand on the man's hand and tried to remove it. "I told you I wasn't interested," he said in a low voice, trying to keep the situation from drawing any attention.

"I know, I heard you," the man said, not removing his hand. "Mancipium," he murmured. Dean was about to ask him what the hell that was supposed to mean when memories came rushing back. "Before you say anything, before you do anything foolish, you came here because I told you to." Dean shook his head, and the hand on his knee grew tighter. "And I've had plenty of time to prepare. There is a set spell on this diner. If you don't cooperate, everyone in this place will die in a fiery conflagration."

Dean gulped uncertainly. "What's a conflagration?" he asked, trying to play for time, but his hand fell away from where the man was touching him.

"Don't play dumb with me, Dean," the stranger said, smiling at Dean as his hand slid slowly up Dean's leg to rest high up on his thigh. Dean looked over at him uneasily, his heart thumping hard in his chest. "You know exactly what I'm threatening. But don't worry, you won't die, and nor will I. Just every man, woman and child here."

Dean didn't have to look around to know exactly who that meant. There was a young couple in a corner booth with three children of varying ages. There was a demure-looking old woman sitting in a narrow two-person booth by herself, reading a book that looked anything but demure. Those and half a dozen others were in the line of fire, not to mention Rhonda, the cook and her fellow waitress. He had automatically looked around and assessed the potential threats present in the room before settling himself on the stool, and he'd noted every person entering the restaurant since. He reconsidered that statement. Everyone except the man sitting next to him.

"What do you want?"

"A pleasant meal with you and a drive in my car afterwards." The man's fingers caressed the inside seam of Dean's jeans, making him extremely uncomfortable. "Don't worry, Dean. Do as I say and everything will be fine. And fun."

"And then you'll kill me, no doubt, like you did all the others," Dean said quietly.

"Oh, no," the man said, and Dean raised his eyebrows. "I admit, you were originally going to be Mr. November, but that honor will be going to another lucky fellow." He shook his head and squeezed Dean's thigh. "No, you I intend to keep."

* * *

Sam called again, his anxiety growing with each passing minute. Voice mail again. Castiel had already gone to the police station, so it made little sense for him to drive there himself. The angel could get there and back faster than Sam could.

As if to prove this point, Castiel popped into existence again. "He left an hour ago," he said. "Can you not locate him using his phone?"

Sam nodded and went to his computer. He should have thought of that himself. He called up the cell company's website and typed in the code for Dean's phone, then his password so the system would show him Dean's location. After several moments, a message box came up. "The cellular customer you are looking for cannot be found at this time. Please try again later."

Ellen shook her head. "That makes no sense. We know his phone is on, or your calls would go straight to voice mail."

Mouth dry, Sam pulled out his phone again and dialed. This time, the phone didn't ring. He just heard Dean's cocky voice telling him to leave a message. He shut his phone, his teeth clenched. "He's turned it off," he said after a moment of expectant silence from the others.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I have no way to find him," Sam said. "Short of physically going out and looking." Castiel's eyes narrowed, and he vanished again. "Son of a bitch!" Sam growled.

* * *

The man watched Dean close his powered-down cell phone like a cat with a canary. A cat. It was an apt image. The man was playing with him, just like a cat played with a mouse before eating it.

"Give the phone to me now, Dean," he said without losing his smile.

"Here you go, Felix," he said, handing it over. His stomach twisted as he lost that connection to possible help.

The man took Dean's phone and tucked it away in a pocket, whistling the theme song from the cartoon show Dean had pulled the name from. "So, you think I'm feline?" he asked.

"I think you're a bastard," Dean said, not at all pleased at having his metaphor so easily recognized.

Rhonda walked up and delivered the burger. Dean smiled automatically up at her, and she winked at him before going about her business.

Felix moved his hand from Dean's thigh to the back of his neck where he squeezed gently in what probably looked like a friendly gesture. "You see, Dean, the effect you have on people?"

"Dude, you're nuts," Dean said. He picked up the burger and took a savage bite. He had to figure a way to get away from this guy before he took the memories of this encounter away again. No wonder he was so sure he was close to a breakthrough. He'd made it, but it kept being taken away from him again and again. This made the fourth time Felix had approached him, and no one had any idea even about the first time because Dean had taken it so lightly.

He ate his burger slowly, and Felix ordered himself a milkshake and fries. There was a clock above the window into the kitchen. It was coming up on five. He'd met with Jack at two, so Sam and Ellen had to be wondering what was up by now. And it was more than possible that Castiel had noticed something was off. He'd certainly been quick enough on the spot the last time. And Dean had told them all there was nothing to worry about. All he'd seen was a little girl.

A memory flashed in his mind, and he pulled back the sleeves of his shirt. The bruises had almost faded now, but there was still some evidence that he'd struggled against handcuffs. Why hadn't he noticed? Hell, why hadn't Sam noticed?

"I told you not to pay any attention to them," Felix murmured. "And not to draw attention to them. You make a most obedient subject. You must have some history in the military, or some other paternal organization where orders, once given, are carried out." Dean shuddered. Sure he did. He'd followed Dad's every command blindly. "You mustn't blame yourself or your friends, Dean. I've been doing this for centuries."

"Killing guys, you mean?" Dean asked, turning towards him.

"Are you finished with your meal?" Felix responded.

Dean's plate was empty. "I was thinking of ordering pie," he said.

"Later, maybe," Felix said. He rose and stood behind Dean, putting his hands on Dean's shoulders. "It's time to go."

"I was looking forward to pie," Dean protested.

The hands tightened almost painfully on Dean's shoulders. "Don't be childish. Let's go."

Dean ran all the lore on witches through his mind, but all the ways of countering them involved being a hell of a lot more prepared than Dean was at the moment. Reluctantly, he slipped off the stool, dropping money for his meal on the counter. He smiled winningly at Rhonda so that she'd remember him, and then he left the restaurant with Felix.

* * *

Sam was frustrated beyond words. Dean's phone was off, that much was obvious. Castiel wasn't answering.

"Driving around randomly isn't going to achieve anything, Sam," Ellen said.

"Waiting here isn't achieving anything either," Sam growled.

"Jo will be back in twenty minutes, about. Let's wait till –"

"Till what, Ellen?" Sam demanded. "We don't have any idea what's going on. Dean could be being killed at this moment."

"Don't think that way, Sam," Ellen countered.

"How should I think? My brother is missing, and –"

"Call Castiel again."

Sam dialed and listened to the rings until he heard the default voicemail message again. He left another, testier message, then hung up. What the hell was going on?

* * *

Felix led Dean to a silver 2007 Honda Civic and unlocked the passenger door. It wasn't at all what Dean would have expected, somehow. Felix stepped back to let Dean get into the car. Dean glanced towards the diner. The littlest of the children in the corner booth was waving at him. She looked about three and was cute as a bug. He waved back, smiling faintly so as not to alarm her, then sat down in the seat. Felix leaned down and pulled something out from under the seat, and Dean gulped.

"Cuffs again?" he asked, his heart pounding hard in his chest. This guy was a pro.

"Usually my prey is unconscious or in thrall at this stage in the proceedings," Felix said. "Give me your right wrist."

Dean didn't have to look back to know that he would be risking too many lives with his refusal. He extended his wrist and Felix snapped the cuff around it. He had a paperclip in his pocket after all. If he needed to, he could get loose.

Felix shut the door and Dean gazed at the smooth surface. No handle, no locking mechanism, no way to open the window. Nothing but unbroken plastic.

Felix got in on the other side and reached down under the seat on that side. Another cuff on a chain that led under the seat. "Dude, you've got me," Dean said. "What do you need that one for?"

"Because I want to keep you," Felix replied. "Give me your wrist, Dean."

Remembering how readily this man had subdued him three times in the past, Dean wasn't sure there was much point in resisting. He was already cuffed in on one side, and without breaking the window, he wasn't getting out without help. He submitted to having his left wrist cuffed, and then Felix leaned over and put his seat belt on for him. Dean glanced towards the Impala, but he knew that would be Sam's best clue – always assuming he could find it.

"You've got this down, I see."

"In different centuries the tactics have been different, but the strategy remains the same," Felix said calmly. "Immobilize the prey, render him harmless until such time as he is fully under your control."

"I am not your prey," Dean snapped. Claustrophobia was rearing its ugly head despite the relative roominess of the car's front compartment. Having his wrists pinned so completely made him feel trapped, and that was all it took.

Felix pulled onto the street and began driving. Dean watched for landmarks, but he didn't recognize much. Memorizing street names was the best he could do. "Not precisely, I suppose, since I don't intend to devour you." He glanced over at Dean. "You are an enigma."

"In what way?" Dean asked.

"You know what I am, yet there is no mark of power on you. You don't seem to have any trouble buying that I have the power to do what I claimed. Most men I've given that choice demand a demonstration. Not you."

Dean shrugged. "So? I didn't particularly want to watch you fry a kid alive, which is what I figured you'd use for a demonstration."

"Dean," Felix said remonstratively. "I would never have burned that place, or hurt those people." Dean closed his eyes. "Much too public. I keep a low profile."

"So, I'm supposed to believe you now when you tell me you were lying before?" Dean asked, giving Felix an edged smile. He'd learned some damned hard lessons about believing people without verifying his facts, but there were risks he was willing to take, and dead kids wasn't on the list.

"Interesting," Felix said. "You make a smart mouse, Dean. I find that most intriguing."

"You're not the first witch I've run across," Dean replied. "I've killed a few in my time."

"Have you?" Felix laughed. "They must have been very young."

Dean shrugged and looked out the window.

* * *

"That's it!" Sam declared. "No more arguments, no more claims that it's disrespectful to his baby, nothing!"

"Sam, what are you talking about?" Ellen asked, looking alarmed.

"I'm done. Dean can bitch to his heart's content, but I am doing it, by God."

"Doing what?" Ellen demanded.

Sam turned towards her. "We are lojacking the Impala."

The door opened and closed on the silence that followed this statement. Jo walked in and looked around. "Where's Dean?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning. Non-con activity
> 
> Trigger warning. Abandoned Impala ;)

Felix pulled into a motel parking lot. Dean glanced up at the sign. Starlight Motel. Corny name. He'd have to try and remember it. Felix pulled around to the back of the building and parked. Dean looked over at the doors and gulped. After turning the car off, Felix turned to Dean and smiled.

"What now?" Dean asked.

"Now?" Felix leaned over and caressed Dean's cheek. He drew back involuntarily, but there wasn't much room. As the witch stroked Dean's face, he murmured softly, words Dean didn't understand. Over the next several seconds, he felt as though blinders fell over his will. He relaxed in the seat. Felix undid the cuff on Dean's left wrist, then got out and came around to open the passenger door. He opened the second cuff and said, "Come along, Dean."

Dean wanted to resist. He wanted to tell Felix to go screw himself, but he was unable to control his actions. He got out of the car and followed Felix tamely to the door of the hotel, pausing while Felix opened the door. The witch stood back slightly and Dean walked right in. He heard the door shut behind him and willed himself to say something, to do something, but he just stood there in the middle of the room, which had a single king-sized bed in it.

Felix latched all the privacy bolts on the door, then walked up to stand right behind Dean. Dean could feel his whole body starting to shake. A silver Honda Civic. Even if someone had noticed Dean getting into that car, there were, what, two million of them on the road? And that assumed someone had noticed the make and model.

Felix nuzzled against Dean's neck, reaching around to unbutton Dean's coat. He dropped the heavy canvas jacket to the floor and began to unbutton the shirt beneath. "Layers upon layers," Felix murmured into Dean's hair. "It's like opening a present." Once the checked overshirt was off, Felix drew Dean's arms together and fastened a pair of handcuffs around the wrists. He murmured soft words in Latin, and Dean was suddenly in control of himself again. He started to move forward, away from Felix, but the other man seized his upper arms and spun him around, thrusting him hard against a wall.

"Let go of me!" Dean growled. He wondered suddenly if their antics would be heard in the rooms around them.

Felix leaned in against him, gazing deep into Dean's eyes. Dean felt his resistance begin to falter under that steady regard and fortified himself, looking away. Felix licked his neck, and a shiver ran through Dean at the touch. He remembered responding despite himself while he was handcuffed to a pipe in his own basement. There was something about this guy, something that Dean couldn't seem to resist.

"Dude, what are you doing to me?" he demanded.

"Doing?" Felix asked, his lips brushing the skin of Dean's neck. "At the moment I am tasting your skin. Shortly I plan to bite it. And before long, I plan to taste you all over."

"That's not what –" Felix bit his neck, making Dean's words stutter to a halt. "I don't mean that," he said intently. "You've got some kind of spell that . . . that makes . . ."

"You've put a spell on me, Dean," Felix said, and he abruptly stepped back and swung Dean around towards the bed. Dean struggled and managed to break free, but his momentum made him land on his back across the mattress. Before he could get back to his feet, Felix was on him again, twisting his shoulders at an extremely uncomfortable angle. Dean tried to scramble away, but Felix caught him and planted him firmly, face down, onto the bed, straddling him to help hold him in place. This position didn't strike Dean as promising. "I'm captivated," Felix added, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"You're crazy," Dean replied, though his words were muffled by the bedclothes. His nose was filled with the deodorizing spray the motel used to freshen the rooms between guests, and it was giving him a headache. "Let me up!"

Felix leaned over the top of him and tossed the pillows aside. Dean twisted his head so he could see what was going on and saw a metal bar about three feet long with padded leather cuffs at each end of it. A chain hung from the center of it off the head of the bed. Dean's heart sped up at the sight of the thing. "No! Seriously, dude, no."

"Hush, you'll be fine," Felix murmured into Dean's hair as he pulled the spreader bar closer.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Dean said, his voice hoarse. Handcuffs were one thing. He was used to those, he'd experienced them . . . before.

Felix released Dean's hands from the handcuffs and tried to force his arms towards the head of the bed. Halfway to panic now, Dean fought him for every inch. Felix paused and murmured softly, and Dean felt a familiar lassitude come over him. Before he knew it, his wrists were clamped into the cuffs at each end of the spreader bar. He felt his breathing quicken, and his heart felt like a sledgehammer in his chest.

"Relax, Dean, this is only to keep you still while we play," Felix said, drawing his hands down Dean's arms and then his torso. Dean felt something cold and metallic at the small of his back, and then he could feel his t-shirt splitting up the middle as Felix ripped it open. Dean yanked at the cuffs on his wrists, but they were solid, and with three feet of metal tubing in between them, he wasn't going to be able to get himself loose. Cold metal pressed briefly at each side of his neck as Felix slit the shoulders of his shirt open and pulled it free. Dean was shaking as memories began to assail him. Memories he'd successfully suppressed everywhere but in his sleep. Felix shifted upwards just long enough to flip Dean over, and then he smiled down at his captive.

Felix put the blade of the knife in his teeth and then began to undo Dean's belt. Dean was shaking his head. "You son of a bitch, let me go," Dean growled. "Stop!" Felix didn't pause, he just finished undoing Dean's belt and started on his jeans. Dean looked upward, towards the ceiling, his hands clenching into fists, images coming unbidden into his mind. The dark depths of Hell encroached on his consciousness. The cuffs there hadn't been padded, they'd been spiked through his joints, but as Alastair had once said, reality put too many limitations on the torturer. He could almost hear Alastair's voice.

He forced himself to remember that Alastair was dead, but that made him remember how the demon had died, who had killed him and by what means. He shoved that thought away and realized that there were hands on his bare ass. He looked up and found Felix staring down at him. "Where did you go?" he asked, his voice silky as his fingers kneaded Dean's buttocks, sending strange little zings of pleasure along Dean's nerve endings.

Dean drew in a shuddering breath. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Oh, but I do," Felix said. Completely naked, he knelt between Dean's legs, and as Dean gazed up at him, he began to explore the space between Dean's butt cheeks. "I want to know everything there is to know about you. Your every secret fear, your every hidden desire."

Reality started to fade again, Dean recalling another voice, another being who had wanted the same thing from him. Alastair hadn't said it so blatantly, but he had wanted it just the same. Dean shifted his attention to the ceiling, trying to focus on the white, popcorn-textured surface, broken only by the smoke detector, so that he wouldn't lose track of reality again. The longer he remained aware of the real world, though, the more intensely he felt every touch of Felix's skin against his own. He tried to kick out, to twist to roll the bastard off himself, but he realized that his legs were restrained in much the way his arms were. Something solid held them about three feet apart, cuffs encircling his ankles. When Dean tried to raise them from the surface of the bed, he discovered the limitations of his bindings. He could lift his legs about three or four inches, but then he came up against a chain that had to be attached at the center of the bar.

He began to struggle blindly against the restraints, pulling and yanking without much real effect. Dean lost himself in panic for he didn't know how long, but hands on either side of his face pulled him back to the here and now. "Calm down, Dean," Felix murmured, then kissed him gently. "You're entirely safe."

"You're a nutjob," Dean said, and he heard the tremulous sound of his voice with humiliation. "I can't – you can't do . . ." His breathing was coming in sharp gasps. Felix placed a hand in the center of Dean's chest and began to murmur softly. Dean felt the beginnings of that lassitude come over him, but his adrenaline was too strong for it to take him fully. He lay still, his whole body shaking with emotions he couldn't altogether identify.

"I can do whatever I want, Dean," Felix said. He leaned down and began to suckle on one of Dean's nipples, and Dean felt erotic yearning shoot to his groin, bringing his dick to life. Fingers began to twist and massage the other nipple, while Felix's other hand stroked Dean's shoulder. Dean thumped his head down flat on the bed, staring again at the ceiling. Maybe if he lost himself in the sensations of pleasure he would stay here and now, but then new memories began to intrude. Those last ten years in Hell had contained an odd mix of pleasure and pain. In Hell, suffering was inevitable. Meg had been right about that. Only perverse monsters like Alastair actually wanted to stay there. But Alastair had regarded Dean as his property from the time he arrived in the pit, and he had used his property however he had seen fit.

"No," Dean muttered, not entirely in control of his words. "No, God no."

"Where did this scar come from?" Felix asked, caressing the skin of the mark of Dean's raising from the pit, where Castiel had gripped him tight.

"Don't touch that!" Dean growled, his skin crawling as the witch touched skin that had been sanctified by an angel.

"Why?" Felix asked curiously, his hand not leaving the mark. "Does it hurt?"

* * *

"What?" Castiel demanded in his gravelly voice.

"Damn it, Cas, I've been trying to get hold of you forever!" Sam snarled. "Where are you?"

"Trying to follow Dean's tracks, but it's nearly impossible."

"Have you tried looking for the Impala?" Sam asked urgently. "You protected us, but did you protect the car?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone line, and then Cas said, "No, I did not. It is in a parking lot at the corner of Johnson and Peel."

Sam gulped. "Let me look that up," he said, turning towards the computer. He saw Ellen's eyes widen and Jo's hand go automatically for her gun, so he was halfway prepared when the hand came down on his shoulder.

"No need," Castiel said, and then they were in the chill of night, in a parking lot. Snow was coming down in soft flakes, and the Impala looked like it had been iced by a master cake decorator. Sam approached the car and peered in. No sign of Dean inside it.

He turned around to see where they were. "Dean has been here," Cas said.

"The car was a subtle hint," Sam replied.

"It could have been stolen," the angel pointed out. "Or driven away and left somewhere to throw us off."

Sam nodded slowly. "I suppose." The parking lot served a diner and what looked like a small office park. Knowing his brother, Sam headed into the diner. Castiel walked over to a stool not far from the door and looked down. He glanced at Sam and nodded. Sam walked over and glanced around, but he saw no sign of his brother. He sat down, and Cas sat next to him. A young woman with dark hair walked up. Her name badge proclaimed her to be Julie. "Hi, can I help you?" she asked.

"Coffee," Sam said. "Can I get it to go?" She nodded and grabbed an insulated cup. "So, did you see who was driving that car?" he asked, pointing towards the Impala.

She shook her head. "No sir. It was here when I got here. Let me ask the other girl, she got here before me." She looked over Sam's shoulder, and both Sam and Cas turned to see that another waitress was passing by them on her way to the kitchen. "Did you see who was driving that awesome car?"

The woman turned and looked at the Impala. "No, I didn't. It was out there when I got here."

Sam noted her name badge automatically. Margot. "Thanks," he said, disappointed but not altogether surprised. "Are you the only two here?"

"Clement's been here since noon," Julie said, gesturing towards the man in the kitchen. She raised her voice. "Clement, did you see who was driving that Chevy?"

"Tall, dark hair, left just before Margot got here," Clement said shortly. "Rhonda said he was hot, then something about all the good-looking ones being gay."

Sam gulped. "Did you see where he went?"

Clement shook his head, coming around the wall that separated the counter from the kitchen. "I just asked her who belonged to the classic car, and she told me it was the guy who sat . . . well, he was sitting where you're sitting right now, I think. Anyway, I didn't really see him for long."

Sam pulled out one of their fake ID badges. He'd stuck it in his pocket during his long wait to go out looking. Holding it carefully so that only the photo could be seen, he said, "Is this the guy?"

Clement leaned close. "Could be. Didn't get a great look, just a glance. Gotta keep an eye out on who all is here, for my girls."

Julie giggled and Margot rolled her eyes before heading to the door the seat a couple who were waiting despite the sign that told them to seat themselves.

Sam paid for his coffee, then he and Castiel left the diner. They stood looking at the car for a long moment. "I'm not sure we should move it," Sam said finally. "What if Dean comes back?"

"I very much doubt Dean will be doing anything under his own power for some time," Castiel said darkly. "Not unless we locate him."

Sam ground his teeth and looked around. "Well, either he left on foot or he got into someone else's car."

"I believe we should take Dean's car to the apartment," Castiel said.

"I don't have the keys," Sam pointed out.

Castiel touched the lock on the driver's door. Sam blinked at him and popped the door open. He climbed in, and a moment later Cas was beside him. He touched the ignition, knit his brows, and then the Impala's engine roared to life. Sam stared at him. "We are not telling Dean about this," he said.

"Why not?"

Sam shook his head and pulled out of the parking lot.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings. Intense non-con, flashbacks, limp!Dean, protective!Sam.

Felix seemed to lose interest in the handprint quickly. He stroked down Dean's arms again, both his hands coming to rest over Dean's nipples where he began to twist and pinch gently. He bent and bit Dean's lower lip, nibbling, then moving down to Dean's neck. He began to suck on the skin just below the hinge of Dean's jaw, and the suction gradually grew more intense. Dean closed his eyes, wondering if there was some way he could will himself unconscious. Little lightning bolts of pleasure shot through him from his nipples, and the feeling of Felix's tongue playing with the sensitized skin on his neck made erotic chills run through him.

Dean tried to shove him away, but the restraints on his wrists and ankles reminded him again of just how helpless he truly was. One of Felix's hands dropped lower, to Dean's crotch, where it cradled his penis in a sure, firm grip, squeezing rhythmically, encouraging the growing erection. Dean pulled harder at the cuffs, but he couldn't budge them. He twisted and writhed as the sensual pleasure he felt grew, making him feel even more out of control as his body responded to the unwanted stimulation.

Then Felix sat up. "I hate not being able to reach all of you at the same time," he said, and Dean looked at him, not sure what he was talking about.

The witch extended a hand over Dean's body and murmured in a quiet voice. Dean felt his body rise off the bed till the two spreader bars were pulled tight against their anchor points. The only things touching him now were the cuffs.

Panic surged through him, obliterating the now. He struggled, suspended taut between two pillars, his body unsupported. "Dean, Dean, Dean." Alastair's clawed hands roved his body, offering both pain and pleasure unpredictably. "You belong to me, you know that, don't you?" A line of fire sliced up his back from tail bone to the nape of his neck. Blood dripped from the wound, and Dean felt tongues lap at it, other damned souls and minor demons taking the opportunity to feed themselves on his pain. A hand wrapped itself around his dick, and he looked down along his body to see that Alastair, the grand master of torturers, stood between his legs, horns curving down from his forehead, his smiling mouth full of razor sharp teeth. He waited for the pain that was sure to come, but Alastair simply released the vulnerable organ and put his hands on Dean's hips. Clawed fingertips drove into the fleshy part of his buttocks, dragging them apart, and Dean knew what was coming. He shook his head, pleading with him not to do it again. Begging and abasing himself, but Alastair just smiled all the wider, and Dean could sense those surrounding him awaiting the event with bated breath.

Alastair thrust his penis into Dean's anus, tearing the hole wide, but that wasn't the worst. Backward pointing barbs cut into Dean's body when the demon withdrew, and Dean became lost in the intense, screaming agony.

* * *

Felix stared in shock when Dean turned milk white and began to shake uncontrollably. He'd noticed that Dean seemed to be escaping into some mental haven, but he hadn't expected anything like this. His newest captive already knew of magic, already anticipated the impossible, such as being suspended by his chains in mid-air. Felix shook his head and banished the spell, allowing Dean to fall back to the mattress where he bounced twice.

Moans escaped the bound man. He twisted and fought the cuffs with a new intensity that surprised his captor. Not sure whether this was a ploy Dean was using to trick him into freeing him, Felix shifted off the end of the bed and went towards Dean's head. "Dean?" he said. He shook the violently struggling man and called his name repeatedly, but nothing seemed to get through.

Dean threw his head back and screamed in apparent agony, but Felix could see no source of pain. The younger man began to sob and tried to curl into a ball, but the restraints foiled the self-protective move. Felix hurriedly unbound him, all four points, and Dean curled into a fetal ball, rocking and begging for unknown tormentors to stop.

Felix gazed down at the young man in puzzlement. He'd rarely been so aptly named by one of his pets. It would do, and it amused him to be named after a cat, even a cartoon cat. His real name was fit only for history books and romance novels. The name Lu-Ninurta had drawn curious looks even in the eighteenth century. Now, in the twenty-first, it was so archaic that most people had never even heard it before. Felix would do, even if the English translation was a fit name only for a dog. Lucky.

Abruptly, Dean threw back his head and howled out a name. "Sam! Saaam!" From his time at the club and some careful questioning, Felix already knew that Sam was Dean's brother.

"Sam isn't here," he said, stroking Dean's forehead. Dean flung himself away from the touch, falling to the floor and scrabbling into a corner where he tucked himself in as small a space as possible, muttering pleas to no one. Pulling on his pants and catching up his shirt, Felix went and squatted before Dean. Suddenly, the young man let out another blood-curdling scream, and Felix was glad he'd warded the room against sound before fetching his toy. The scream ended on sobs that shook the man's whole frame, and gradually, Dean seemed to come back to himself.

Felix believed the modern term for such events was _flashback_. In other times other names had been used, and the whole experience had often been pointed to by either the victim or those around him as a sign of witchcraft. Those times when witchcraft had been blamed for everything from plague to ill weather to the common cold had provided Felix with endless amusement.

He reached out and touched Dean's shoulder and the man jerked away, hiding his face in his knees, as though he felt some shame in the tears that poured down his cheeks.

There would be no further pleasure tonight. Felix rose and walked across the room. He picked up Dean's clothing and tossed it by the man's feet, expecting that when he was ready, he would huddle himself into his garments as quickly as he was able. This proved to be an accurate prediction. Felix dressed himself more carefully, but Dean's hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't manage his buttons. He could barely manage his belt.

Felix drew out the cellular phone he'd taken from his prisoner and, grabbing Dean by the arm, stuffed it into the pocket of his denim pants. Still holding Dean by the arm, he placed a hand on the top of his head. First he spoke a spell that reduced the man to an automaton. The severity of the emotional reaction was evident in the way that Dean continued to tremble despite the spell's control over his body. He then said, "Mancipium peractio." This reactivated the spell that blocked Dean's memory of every encounter with Felix beyond that first intense kiss.

That kiss had hooked Felix. He had not expected the allure, the fresh flavor that Dean provided. Century upon century had left him jaded. Each life tasted much the same, and apart from outward appearance, the men he encountered had little to differentiate them. Dean had something special, something he had not seen in a very long time. It was entrancing and irresistible. He would own him, possess him, but there was something captivating in playing with the man in this way, borrowing him for brief sessions of pleasure, then letting him go, all unknowing that he was leading a double life.

He took a few extra steps to guarantee that Dean would remember nothing, then took the man back out to his car. It gave him a pang to conceal the marks of his passionate bites, but they would be noted and questioned. And it wasn't as though he'd removed them altogether. He'd merely hidden them from eyes that had no business viewing them. Only he and his toy would be aware of their presence, and his toy would only notice passing, unexplained discomfort.

He drove a roundabout route to the diner, but Dean's vehicle was no longer there. He didn't dare leave the man in a place where they had been seen together when he couldn't leave under his own power. It might be remembered. Instead, he drove to an entirely different neighborhood, dropping him down the street from a late night restaurant of some kind, making sure that there were no witnesses who would remember the event.

Moving without conscious volition, Dean got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. Felix wished he dared give him a final kiss, but the tremors had only eased, not faded entirely, and he'd have to redo some of the spellwork he'd already done if he intruded upon the man now. Instead he merely drove away, snapping his fingers when he was far enough gone that Dean would have no reason to associate himself with the vehicle dwindling in the distance.

* * *

Sam knew he was driving Ellen and Jo nuts. Cas was off on his own again, doing whatever, but Sam couldn't stop pacing. He hated the thought that their last real connection to Dean was parked downstairs. Yes, Dean would be glad to know that his baby was safe, but Sam was more concerned about Dean himself.

His cell phone rang, and he yanked it out of his coat pocket so quickly that he tore the heavy fabric. The name on the caller ID was Dean. He flipped the phone open. "Dean, where are you, are you okay?"

"Sammy?" The voice was so weak, so uncertain, so damned pathetic that Sam barely recognized it. "I don't . . . I don't have any idea where I am. Something . . . something's wrong."

Sam didn't know what to say in the face of uncertainty from his brother. "Are you safe?"

"I . . . I think . . ." Dean paused so long that Sam wanted to jump through the phone and grab him. "I think so. I'm cold. Freakin' cold."

Sam could hear the shiver in his words. "Where are you?" he asked again.

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean said, and there was a combination of fright and bewilderment in his voice that was difficult for Sam to bear.

"Can you see any street signs?"

"Where are my shoes?" Dean asked, and Sam finally recognized what was going on with Dean. He was in shock, and Sam had to find him before he hurt himself. "Sammy, where are my shoes?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said, and then inspiration came to him. He shoved Ellen and Jo out of his way and hurried to his computer, pulling up the cell company website again. "Don't worry, Dean, I'm coming." He entered Dean's GPS code and his password and this time an address popped up. He clicked the button that pulled up a map of the area and traced his route, continually repeating his reassurances to Dean. His brother wasn't making much sense. He kept asking for his shoes and telling Sam he was cold. By the time that he had the turns fixed in his head, Ellen and Jo were ready. Ellen held his coat out so he could just slide into it and Jo had the front door open.

He heard the others behind him on the steps as he broke out onto the street. "Don't worry, Dean," he said. "I'll be there soon." Monday night was quiet in these parts, thank God. He fumbled the Impala's spare keys into his hand and got the door unlocked. Ellen and Jo were on the passenger side of the car, waiting, and it was clear they wanted in. He leaned across and unlocked the front door, leaving the rear door for Ellen to unlock.

"What if Cas comes back?" he said. "And no one's there?"

Ellen and Jo exchanged a look, and Jo nodded. "I'll stay here," she said. "Hurry." She slammed the door shut and Sam started the car.

"Let me talk to him, Sam," Ellen suggested.

"Sammy?" Dean was saying in his ear. "Sammy, are you still there?"

"I'm here, Dean," Sam said. "I'm coming for you. Can you talk to Ellen for a minute?"

"Ellen? Sammy, where are my shoes?"

Sam handed the phone over and drove like he'd never heard of cops or traffic laws.


	23. Chapter 23

Ellen hung on for dear life but concentrated on Dean. "Dean, can you hear me?"

"Ellen, what's Sammy doing?" Dean sounded lost, confused.

"He's driving the car to come get you. Talk to me Dean. Where are you?"

"On a street," Dean said, and Ellen began to get the picture about why Sam was so freaked.

"Describe the street for me, honey. Are there any people?"

"Dark," Dean said.

Okay, better keep to one question at a time. "Is there anyone else around?"

"It's freakin' cold," Dean said, and Ellen bit her lip. "Ellen, where's Sammy?"

"We're on our way to pick you up," she replied. "Dean, I need you to look around." She paused. "Are there houses around you?"

"Office buildings," Dean replied. "Stores."

She glanced at her watch in the glow of a street light. Just past eleven. "Is there anything open? Like an all night restaurant or anything?"

"Ellen?" Sam asked, sounding alarmed.

She put a hand over the mouthpiece. "He's cold, and he'll be safer where there are other people," she said in an undertone. Sam grimaced, but he didn't say anything else.

"I . . . I think so."

"How far?"

"One or two blocks," he said.

"Go on down there and tell me its name."

"Okay." He sounded almost naïve, trusting, and Ellen wished she could be like Castiel and just teleport herself there.

"Everything's going to be fine, Dean," she said. "It's going to be okay."

Sam cleared his throat, and she looked over at him. "He said he's not wearing any shoes," he said.

Ellen grimaced. "Can you see the name of the place yet, Dean?"

"Tommy's Pizza," Dean said.

"Go inside and order something, Dean," she said. "Can you do that?" He didn't respond. "Dean?"

"Sure," he said.

"Do you have your wallet?"

"I . . . yes." She realized that he'd had to check.

"Cash?"

"Y . . . yes."

"Order something and find somewhere to sit, okay? But don't hang up."

She didn't hear anything more than background noise for a moment, then she heard him speak, but not to her. "Large combination with anchovies, please, and a pitcher of Coke."

Ellen listened to the transaction, amazed by how normal Dean sounded. He didn't sound like normal Dean to her, but he didn't sound like a nut. "We'll be there soon, Dean."

"Twenty minutes, I'd guess," Sam said.

"Really soon," Ellen added, not real sure she wanted to give him a specific time in case something delayed them. He was riding a ragged edge so far as she could tell, and she didn't want to tip him over. She continued providing reassurances all the way. Dean got quieter, as if inhibited by the fact that he was around people.

Sam pulled up outside a corner pizza place, and they both jumped out of the car and hurried to the door. There was a young man just inside. "I'm sorry, we're closed."

"My brother's here," Sam said urgently. He raised his voice. "Dean?"

The young man stepped back, looking startled. "You're here for that guy?" he asked, his voice sounding relieved. "I was beginning to think I was going to have to call someone. He seems . . ."

Sam was already past him and across the room. Ellen stayed next to the boy. She squinted at his name plate. "Jacob?" He nodded. "Don't you worry, we'll take it from here."

"Ellen?" Sam called, and she hurried over. Dean's eyes were huge, and she could see why the clerk had been worried. He didn't look dangerous so much as lost and halfway to terrified. Sam held out his hand. "Take the keys, see if you can dig out some reasonably clean socks from the back seat."

Ellen nodded, took the keys and went outside.

* * *

Sam didn't know what to make of Dean in this state. The minute he'd arrived, Dean had looked up like a frightened child and flung himself at him. It was at that point that Sam had realized that neither Dean's shirt nor his coat were actually fastened up the front and his heart began to pound. What the hell had happened? After giving his brother a tight hug, he'd begun buttoning the coat buttons, immediately launching into reassurances. "You're going to be okay, Dean."

When Ellen came back with a pair of socks that actually looked folded, Sam got Dean to sit down and tugged them onto his feet. Dean didn't complain, didn't even speak, and that really alarmed Sam. "Ellen, I think you'd better drive," he said when she made to hand him the keys. She nodded. "Come on, Dean," he said. "Let's get you up."

Dean was shaking like a leaf, and this didn't feel like cold. Sam put his arm around his brother and dimly heard Ellen fobbing the clerk off when he asked what was wrong. It probably looked like drugs or something to the kid, but Sam had a feeling he knew what it was. He'd seen Dean looking kind of like this a couple of times after really bad nights, only he'd been in better control of himself and had refused any kind of help.

That didn't entirely answer the question, though. Somehow he doubted that Dean had fallen asleep in the middle of downtown Salt Lake and had a nightmare.

Ellen climbed into the driver's seat and Sam guided Dean into the car, pushing him to slide across to the middle of the front seat. "Let's go, Dean," Sam said.

"You're not driving?" Dean asked. "She can't drive. If you're not going to drive, I'm going to drive." He snatched the keys out of Ellen's hand. "Sammy, she can't drive the Impala."

"Got it, Dean," Sam exclaimed, holding his hand out for the keys. "I'll drive."

Dean gave him the keys reluctantly, then started patting his pockets as Ellen got out of the car. "Where are my keys?" He looked anxiously over at Sam. "My keys are gone. Where are my keys?"

Sam had been thinking that he seemed a little better with his insistence that Ellen not drive the car, but his mood seemed almost frantic, just short of hysterical. He looked at Ellen. "Would you go check and see if he left them in the restaurant, Ellen?" he asked. She hurried off and Sam turned to his brother. "Here, get out of the car and let's check all your pockets."

"I lost my shoes, I lost my keys." Dean shook his head, looking freaked out. "Sammy, what's wrong with me?"

"We'll figure it out, Dean," Sam said. "Now, let's check your pockets."

Ellen came back with a pizza that reeked of anchovies and disappointing news. "I even checked the bathroom, and I didn't find them."

"Sam, I can't go anywhere without my keys."

"We'll find them, Dean," Sam said. "But right now we need to go back to the apartment." Over Dean's objections, Sam got him back into the car and Ellen climbed into the backseat. He drove as fast as was safe back to the apartment. When Ellen started to hand him his phone back, he shook his head. "Call Cas. Tell him to meet us there. And you'd better let Jo know."

Back in the Impala, in an accustomed position, Dean drifted off to sleep. Gradually, he settled against Sam's shoulder. Sam looked at him anxiously whenever he could spare his eyes from the road, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Sam pulled up outside the apartment where Jo and Cas stood on the side of the road. Castiel opened the car door as soon as the car came to a stop. "Cas?" Sam said. "Can you get him upstairs without waking him?"

Castiel stared at him, then reached in, touching Dean's shoulder. A second later, Sam felt himself sinking into the sofa, Dean sinking in next to him. Castiel was still leaning across as if into the car. He stood up straight.

Sam checked that Dean was actually still asleep before looking up at Castiel. "Can you tell what happened?"

Before either of them could speak or even move, Dean began to twitch and struggle. Sam put his arms around his brother to try and hold him still, but that sense of restraint seemed to set him off into even greater panic. Before anyone could react further, he began to scream Sam's name at the top of his lungs.

"Dean!" he exclaimed. "Dean! Wake up!" Dean just kept screaming and trying to pull away until Castiel leaned down and touched Dean's forehead with the first two fingers of his right hand.

Dean went limp, and Sam looked anxiously up at the angel. "Hell," he said curtly.

Sam clenched his jaw and looked away, his hand coming up to touch his brother's head. "He's not dressed," Sam said. "Not completely. His shoes and socks are gone, his shirt and coat were unbuttoned."

The door opened, admitting Jo and Ellen who came running in and stopped, staring at Dean. "What the hell happened?" Ellen demanded.

"He was dreaming," Cas said. "I . . . stopped the dream."

Jo looked alarmed by the statement, but intriguingly, Ellen just nodded. "Hadn't we better put him to bed?" she suggested. "He'll need rest."

Sam nodded. "Cas, can you help –" Castiel bent and lifted Dean as if he were a three-year-old. He carried him across to the bed and put him down. Sam followed him over and opened the front of Dean's coat, revealing his bare skin underneath the checkered shirt. "This makes no sense. I know he was wearing a t-shirt when he left." He bent to undo Dean's belt and Dean's pants fell open, not buttoned or even zipped. "What the hell happened here?"

"I do not know," Cas said.

Sam glanced over at Ellen and Jo, and Ellen put an arm around Jo's shoulders to lead her away towards the kitchen. "Let's fix something to eat." Sam looked over at Castiel.

"I am not leaving," Cas said.

"I wasn't asking you to. Is he going to stay asleep? Because he won't let me look at anything if he wakes up."

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "Are you asking me to ensure that he remains asleep?"

Sam nodded, his brows knit. "Yeah, I am."

Castiel bent and touched Dean's forehead again, then nodded. Sam started stripping his brother off. It wasn't hard, the belt was the only thing that had been fastened. When he pulled Dean's jeans down, Sam stared in puzzlement. His briefs were on backwards. None of the knives he kept on him all the time were present, and Sam wondered where they could possibly be.

"Dean wouldn't take his knives off willingly," Sam said. "I mean, one of them was in his boot, so that went with his shoes, but the one he kept at the small of his back, the one he kept in his pocket?"

Sam started looking Dean's body over carefully, looking for any signs of injury. All he found were the bruises he'd already seen. Digging a pair of sweats out of Dean's pile of clean laundry, he pulled them onto his brother. He'd dressed an unconscious Dean a time or two in the past, but after injuries or drunken debaucheries. Not after . . . not after he wandered off and disappeared for five or six hours and came back confused about what had happened to him.

"Was it a fugue?" he asked.

"I do not understand the question," Cas said.

"Did Dean wander off in a fugue state?" Sam asked. "Is that why he . . . where he . . ."

"We will have to ask him what he remembers."

Sam stared at him. "Can't you just . . ." He waved his hand in the general vicinity of his head. "I mean, how do you know when Dean's having nightmares? How did you know that nightmare was of Hell?"

"I cannot always help reading surface thoughts, and I am particularly attuned to Dean."

"So . . . can't you find out what happened to him?" Sam sort of gestured towards Dean's head.

"You wish me to invade his privacy."

"Yes! Invade it!" Sam exclaimed.

"He will be angry. He has specifically requested that I respect his personal sp –"

"Cas, we have to know, and I'm not sure we can afford to wait till he wakes up. We still don't know if someone else was involved."

Castiel nodded and looked down at Dean. He placed a hand on Dean's cheek and stood silently for a moment. Ellen walked up with two cups of coffee and held one out to Sam. He took it and smiled a weak thanks at her.

Jo came up behind her, also holding a cup of coffee. She walked over and leaned against the windows of the outer wall, staring worriedly at Dean. Castiel finally looked up. "I believe the correct word is flashback," he said.

Sam blinked at him. "He had a flashback strong enough to do this?" He gestured at his brother.

"Yes," Castiel said flatly.

"Flashback to what?" Jo asked.

Sam just gave her an incredulous look, but Castiel took the question at face value. "Hell." He turned towards Sam with his brows knit. "I believe the current circumstances may be exacerbating his reactions."

"Current circumstances?" Sam asked. "What do you mean?"

Castiel shrugged very slightly. "You are investigating the violent deaths of homosexual males?" he asked, and Sam nodded. "And Dean is masquerading as a homosexual male?"

"Yeah, so?"

Castiel looked down at Dean. "That memory had a sexual component."

Ellen let out a distressed noise and Jo's eyes widened. Sam just shook his head. "You said the memory was of Hell, Cas," he said.

"Yes," the angel replied, and Sam just gaped at him. "You surely did not believe that any boundaries would be respected there."

Sam turned and stared down at Dean, unaccountably floored by the revelation. Of course no boundaries would be respected. It was Hell, after all. But he'd met Dean's chief torturer, he'd killed the bastard, and it had never occurred to him. Why it made a difference, he wasn't sure, except that Dean had always been so cheerfully hedonistic when it came to sex that it seemed somehow even worse for him to be tortured in that way.

"Especially when they were attempting to break the righteous man," Castiel continued, as if he thought Sam needed more explanation. Sam nodded and waved him silent. He wasn't sure Cas would get it, he didn't always understand human gestures.

"Would you please not call him that?" Jo said, sounding irritated.

Castiel turned towards her. "The righteous man?"

"Yeah."

"He is the righteous man," Castiel replied.

Sam looked up at her, an utterly irrational rage building in him. "Why do you have a problem with that?" he asked, his tone calm and reasonable despite his internal turmoil.

"I don't know," Jo said.

"Hush, Jo, honey," Ellen interjected, gazing at Sam. Evidently she could see signs that Jo was missing.

Jo didn't pay any attention. "It just makes him sound like something out of a comic book, or _The Lord of the Rings_ or something."

Sam blinked at her, his rage flowing away as fast as it had come. "Jo," he said tiredly. "We started the Apocalypse."

Jo stared at him, her eyes puzzled. "I thought you started that."

Sam gaped at her, not sure what to say. Castiel, truthful to a fault these days, said, "It took both of them."

Ellen seemed startled as well, but it was Jo who asked the question. "What did Dean do?"

Sam found he couldn't answer. He couldn't betray Dean's trust in that way. He'd done it in every other possible manner, but he couldn't tell that secret without Dean's knowledge. "I can't –" he started to say, but Castiel had no such boundaries.

"He broke the first seal," Castiel said.

"Cas!" Sam said, stopping him from explaining further. The angel looked at him and stopped talking, his expression going blank. "He didn't know it, and he couldn't help it," Sam said. "Not like me."

"You didn't know it either, Sam," Castiel pointed out. "It was kept from you."

"But I could have helped it," Sam snapped.

"I don't understand," Jo said.

"No one made me kill Lilith," Sam said, turning on her. "Dean –" He broke off looking down at his unconscious brother. "His situation was different. Anyone would have done it, just most of them wouldn't have held out as long."

"I believe you, Sam," Ellen said, walking up and cupping his cheek. Sam was startled when he felt her wiping away tears. She pulled his head down and kissed him on the forehead. "You take care of your brother," she said. "Jo, honey, let's go upstairs. Sam will call us if he needs us."

With obvious reluctance, Jo followed her out. Sam listened for the bolt to shoot home, then he looked at Cas. "Are you sticking around, or are you going out looking for God?"

Castiel gazed at him. "Are you going to let him go out alone again?"

Sam grimaced. "No."

"Then I will return later." He looked intently into Sam's eyes. "Take care of your brother."

With that he was gone.

Sam shook his head and shucked his clothes, pulling on a pair of sweats before climbing into bed behind Dean. He didn't expect any more nightmares, not after Castiel's intervention, but he wanted to be close just in case. He felt tears trickling down his nose, and that just called to mind Chuck's nutty publisher who had wanted to know the last time they had _really_ cried. Every time one or the other of them let emotions get the better of him, he got that crazy woman in his head with the certain knowledge that Chuck could very well be having a vision at that moment and be preparing to write a scene that would show them at their most vulnerable.

Damn it all anyway. He buried his face in the pillow and let the tears fall.


	24. Chapter 24

Dean woke up abruptly, not sure where he was or what was going on. He wasn't shaking, but he felt shaky, and he felt like there were gaps in what he knew about things. That bothered him. It only took him a moment to identify his location. He was in the loft apartment, in bed, with Sam cuddled up behind him, holding him close. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow. "Sammy?" he said softly, not sure if his brother was awake.

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam said. His voice sounded odd and choked. Dean decided he didn't want to see Sammy crying, so he didn't turn over.

"You okay?"

Sam let out something that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a sob. "Yeah, Dean, I'm okay. How are you feeling?"

"Crappy," Dean replied, not stopping to analyze why he wasn't pulling away from his little brother like he ordinarily would. "What happened? I remember going to see Jack, and then I remember stopping at some random diner for no particular reason, and . . . did I call you?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. "That's all you remember?"

Dean blinked, memories of Alastair assailing him suddenly. "Yeah, that's it."

"Dean?" Sam asked, and Dean had a sudden certainty that Sam didn't believe him. That might have something to do with the fact that he'd started trembling, which he couldn't hide from Sam while lying in bed with him.

"What, Sammy?" he asked, prepared to deflect.

"You had a flashback, and as far as I can tell it may have sent you into a kind of fugue state."

Dean blinked at the wall opposite him. "A whosa-whatsits?"

He heard Sam sigh. "A daze. You were in a daze, and you wandered around, but . . . well, you weren't . . . real well put together when we got to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you were freaked out, and . . ." Sam trailed off.

"What, Sam?" Dean demanded.

"Your clothes were on wrong," Sam said. "And some of them were missing."

Dean was having trouble processing what Sam was telling him. "Was I drinking?" he asked.

"No, Dean, not so far as we can tell," Sam said. "Not the faintest hint of alcohol, and I think Cas would have mentioned it if he'd gotten that impression from you."

Dean struggled to find some realm of normalcy. "So, I freaked out, got all dazed and . . . and what? What do you mean my clothes were on wrong?"

"Well, your underwear was backwards."

Dean's jaw worked without effect for a moment as he searched for words. "There must have been a husband involved somehow," he said. The words and the thought behind them made him shiver oddly.

"Dude," Sam said. "That isn't funny. You were . . . I mean, I don't really know what happened, I just know you had some kind of flashback, you were missing for like six hours and when you turned up, you didn't have your shoes, your socks, or your t-shirt, and your underwear was on backwards. And you were freaked out worse than I've seen you since . . . since ever."

"Sammy," Dean said, trying to find a way to downplay the whole incident.

"The only piece of clothing you had fastened was your belt. Your jeans were open, your shirt and coat were open, and you couldn't string six words together." Sam sat up. "Has this ever happened before?" he demanded.

Dean rolled over and gave his brother a sardonic look. "Only connected to liquor and a chick."

"Dean!" Sam growled. His nose and eyes were red. "This is serious."

"When isn't it?" Dean asked. "I'm fine."

"You're shaking like a leaf, Dean," Sam retorted.

Dean turned back over, putting his back to Sam, crossing his arms over the covers. "I'm fine!" he repeated with more emphasis.

Sam continued as if Dean hadn't even spoken. "And you don't remember five hours of today."

"How do you know how long?" Dean asked challengingly.

"Because I talked to the people at the diner," Sam replied. "You were there around five, and you called me around eleven. I don't know how much time the flashback actually covers, and I don't know how quickly you called me after you came to yourself, so I'm giving you an hour of leeway. At a minimum, you don't remember five hours."

"What of it?" Dean asked even though the idea alarmed him.

With an exasperated grimace, Sam glowered at him. "Dean, I know you're not as blasé about that as you're making out. Why do you keep trying to snow me?"

Dean shrugged. "Because sometimes it works."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Not this time."

Dean looked down at himself. He was wearing sweats. "Sammy, how did you know my underwear was on backwards?"

"I looked," Sam said.

"What do you mean you looked?" Dean asked.

"I stripped your clothes off you and looked to see if you were hurt," Sam said.

Dean shuddered at the thought. Embarrassment he expected. The sick feeling of shame startled him and pissed him off. "That's just wrong, Sammy," he growled.

"I know you'd look me over under the same circumstances," Sam replied insistently, and Dean glared at him. "You were gone for six hours, then completely freaked out and practically incoherent when you returned. I had to know if you were hurt."

"You could have asked," Dean snapped.

"Number one, you were incoherent, I think I mentioned that. Number two, you're always so forthcoming about getting hurt."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "I've never kept –"

"You didn't tell me that Meg had shot you while she borrowed my body until the morning after when I found the bloodstain on your bed."

"That was a while ago," Dean said irritably. "So, did you find anything?"

"No," Sam replied, sounding kind of disgruntled about it. "Your feet were really cold, but you hadn't been out barefoot long enough for frostbite."

"That's a relief." Dean sat up and looked at his feet, turning one of them up so he could look at the bottom. "I like my toes." He checked both feet over and looked up at Sam, wondering why his brother was still silent. He usually couldn't stop talking. Sam was giving him a weird look. "What?"

Sam's lips narrowed and he looked away. He cleared his throat. "Dean, maybe we should find someone else to take this case," his brother said finally.

Dean blinked at him. "Why?"

"Because it may be having an effect on you."

"An effect?" Dean repeated suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dean, this flashback, and you've been having more nightmares recently. And Cas said there was . . ." Sam trailed off, and he actually flushed.

Dean gave him a dubious look. "Cas said something that made you blush?" Sam shuddered, and Dean began to grow anxious. "What did he say?"

"He said that . . . I made him look at your flashback because I thought he might be able to see the trigger or what had happened before it."

Dean started to respond, but then a memory of that flashback hit him and he grit his teeth. "Cas looked at that?" he asked. Sammy nodded. "And he told you about it?"

"Not in detail," Sam said, and Dean let out a sigh of relief. "But he said it had . . . a sexual component."

Dean stood up like a shot, feeling impelled to his feet. He had a sudden desire to take a shower. "That's none of your business, Sammy," he growled.

"Dean, if pretending to be gay and offering yourself up as bait for something that murders gay guys is what made this whole thing happen, it –"

"Sammy!" Dean growled.

"We can't afford for you to freeze up if something happens, and that could happen with flashbacks."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Dean replied. "Is there any coffee?"

"Ellen made some a couple hours back," Sam said, and Dean strode across towards the kitchen. He heard the mattress squeak behind him as Sam got up to follow him. "If the sexual nature of this case is what's bugging –"

Dean whirled. "Sex does not bug me, Sammy boy," he retorted. "You know that. You've made jokes about it!"

"That was before I –"

"Sex is not an issue," Dean said with finality, and then he stomped into the kitchen. He picked up the coffee pot from the coffee maker and that was when he realized how shaky his hand really was. He put it back on its burner and leaned against the counter, trying to regain his self control.

"Look, Dean, I know sex with girls doesn't bug you, but Alastair, he was a male demon, right? I just thought that the homosexual thing might –"

"Don't go there, Sammy," Dean growled.

"Dean, I'm worried that could affect your reactions to this case, and I don't want –"

"This conversation is over," Dean said, and then he turned to face Sam. "I am not 'whining about Hell' anymore, Sammy." Sam drew back as if he'd struck him. "And I don't want to talk about it. It's not having an effect on this case, I don't know what happened today, but it has nothing to do with the case."

"Dean, I'm just worried about you," Sam said. "Can't we just –"

"I know, Sammy," Dean said, cutting him off. "I know you think I'm weak, but you're wrong."

Sam's eyes widened. "That's not what I mean at all, Dean. I –"

"And if I was wandering naked around Salt Lake City, I'm sure we'll hear about it on the news, so why don't you go check it out while I get cleaned up."

"Dean, this is important!" Dean ignored him and strode into the bathroom, slamming the door before leaning against it to ride out the tremors that had been threatening to reveal themselves for the last several minutes. "Dean!" Sam called, and he knocked on the door. Dean locked it, not that the lock would stop Sam if he was going to be pushy. "Dean, talk to me."

Dean crossed the room and turned on the water to drown his brother out. Then he walked over and looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn't been kidding when he said he felt like crap. His shoulders and hips ached, and he felt like he had bruises on his arms and neck. He must be sickening for something, because there wasn't a single sign of injury. Resting his hands on the porcelain sink, he let his head droop.

He hadn't had sex in Hell, whatever Sam thought. Brutality and sadism had taken different forms at different times, but he didn't feel any differently about sex than he ever had. After all that had happened to them, after all he knew about Hell, why was Sammy acting like being raped by a demon made things that much worse?

He shook his head. No, he just needed to immerse himself in hot water and get cleaned up – and Sam could deal with his own problems.

* * *

Sam paced, trying to figure out how to get Dean to talk about this seriously, fully aware that he'd have a better chance of getting his brother to open up if they were stopped on the road somewhere. Why Dean only seemed to be able to talk on highways in the middle of nowhere was beyond Sam, but it was a consistent pattern.

And about this – he might never be able to get Dean to open up about this again. 'Whining about Hell.' He wished he'd never said it, he wished Dean had believed him when he said it was just the siren talking, but the more he'd thought about it since his own about-face, the more he'd known that it wasn't just the siren. He wouldn't have said it without the siren, but he'd thought it more than once.

Which probably meant that Dean had meant everything he'd said, too. Of course, everything Dean had said _was_ true. Sam had been a rotten brother, and Dean had only been trying to find a way to pull them back together again.

Regardless, after that, Dean wasn't likely to confide in Sam again. Not about Hell for sure.

His phone rang and he walked over to answer it. "Hello?"

"How's Dean?" The voice was unexpected, but entirely familiar.

"Bobby, hi. Dean's in the shower."

"That's not what I asked, boy," Bobby replied. "How is he? I just talked to Ellen, and before that, I talked to Jo."

Sam closed his eyes. "He says he's fine."

"I didn't ask what he said, ijdit," Bobby retorted.

Sam grimaced. "He's freaked out and he's not talking about it."

"Shocking," Bobby said. "Is he hurt?"

Sam shrugged. "He seems stiff, but I didn't find any injuries."

"No bruising?"

"No, Bobby, physically he seems fine. Just exhausted and shaky. What did Ellen and Jo tell you?"

"That he'd had a flashback and wandered off, that he misplaced some clothing and that I should call you after a while so Dean would have time to get some rest." There was a pause. "It's been as much of a while as I could stand."

Sam sank into the sofa. "He remembers visiting the cops today –"

"The cops? What'd he go see the cops for?"

"They're investigating a –"

"He's being investigated by the police?"

"No, Bobby," Sam said. "He got attacked by a gay basher, they arrested the guy, and they had some follow up questions."

"Oh."

"So he went by there around two, and when he was done, he went to a diner for dinner. After that, he doesn't remember anything but the flashback and calling me, or so he says."

"What was the flashback?"

"I don't know any details, just what Cas said."

"Ellen said I should ask you about that," Bobby growled. "I guess she didn't think it was her place, or something."

Sam really didn't want to talk about this. He cleared his throat. "It was Hell. Cas said there were sexual components, and Dean more or less confirmed that."

"He did?"

"Well, he didn't deny it."

Bobby grunted. "And with Dean that's the closest you'll get to an admission."

"He told me it was none of my business."

"Balls!"

"Yeah," Sam muttered. "Anyway, he's really shaky, he's still acting freaked out, and I'm the last person on earth he'd talk to about any of it." An idea occurred to him. "Do you think maybe you could talk to him?"

"He's not being real open with me right now either, Sam," Bobby said. "I think he wants to avoid stressing me out."

"I doubt he'll talk to Ellen or Jo about this, and Cas is an angel, so God knows what he talks to him about."

"Presumably," Bobby remarked, and Sam rolled his eyes at the attempted humor. "So, has this happened before and you boys just haven't bothered me with it?"

"Bobby!" Sam exclaimed. "If this had happened before, I'd have had him back in South Dakota so fast it would make your head spin," he said.

"You're not headed back now, are you?"

"If I had my way, we would be," Sam retorted. "I want to find someone else to do this case and get the hell out of Salt Lake. I swear, Cas is anxious that something's threatening Dean, I've been feeling the same way, and Dean won't listen to anyone. Now he's freaking out over this flashback, and he's all shaky – but he's fine."

"Sounds like your daddy, which is odd, because usually you're the one who sounds like your daddy."

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "Whatever. I just wish I could get Dean to listen to me, but he's decided I'm calling him weak."

"Ouch."

"And he told me that he wasn't going to start whining about Hell again." Bobby didn't say anything, which just made Sam feel guiltier. "And it's all my fault, and I don't know what I can do about it."

"And there ain't a shrink qualified to help any of us," Bobby said. "Where were we?"

Sam cleared his throat. "I haven't seen any flashbacks like this, and Dean made a joke about alcohol when I asked."

"That's Dean, all right. Anything else?"

"I'm just worried that this case is giving him flashbacks to . . . to being raped in Hell. I mean, he's essentially putting himself out as bait for a sexual predator, and he's really . . . I've never seen him act like this."

"Like what?"

"He makes a startlingly convincing gay guy."

"And?"

"And what? It's weird."

"Nothing weird about it," Bobby replied, and Sam blinked. "Your brother has always been very good at being whatever anyone else expected him to be. It's a gift he has."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Keep me posted."

"Sure, Bobby."

"And if you boys are done with this thing by next Thursday, you should come here for Thanksgiving. Bring Ellen and Jo if they'll come."

Sam's eyes widened. He'd forgotten that Thanksgiving was so close. "Sure, but at this rate, we'll be here for Christmas."

"You never know." Bobby was silent for a moment. "Sam?"

"Yeah Bobby?"

"Take care of your brother, if he'll let you."

"I'm trying," Sam said. He hung up and found himself wondering who else was going to give him that instruction.


	25. Chapter 25

Felix hovered behind Morgan. "One of these days, I should have you teach me how these machines work," he said.

"Why would I do that, Leo?" Morgan asked, giving him an amused look over his shoulder. "If I go telling you how to manage computers on your own, what will you need me for?"

"I have other uses for you," Felix said, but he knew that Morgan would not last much longer. With his golden hair and blue eyes, he was still very appealing, and the freckles added a touch of innocence to his countenance, an innocence that Felix doubted he had ever possessed. Nevertheless, he was growing tiresomely jealous. He made a good blind for Felix's activities, but his kills were becoming more obvious. Sooner or later, the constabulary would make a more intensive search, and it would be as well to have cut the association before that time.

"Looks like your boy toy is dead, Felix," Morgan said. "Interesting. Looks like he's been declared dead twice."

"Trust me, he's emphatically not dead."

"Not according to the police, but that's what he looks like, right?" A picture appeared on the screen of Dean holding one of the placards the police used to identify their prisoners when photographing them. He looked cocky and humorous.

"That's him," Felix replied.

"Then the law thinks he's dead, which means that getting them to look for him would be something of a struggle."

"I want to know everything there is to know about him," Felix said. "Something happened today that I must have an explanation for."

"Why didn't you just ask him?" Morgan asked.

"Because he was in no condition to answer questions." Felix tapped his assistant sharply on the back of the head. "Just find out what I want to know."

"Well, he has a record a mile long, stretching back to adolescence," Morgan said. "Grave robbery, murder, trespassing, impersonation of law enforcement, credit card fraud. Hell, this guy is a peach! I can see why you want him."

"Your judgment wasn't requested, Morgan, merely your help."

"Look, Leo, what's going on? You've never kept a guy that I'm aware of."

"What about you?"

Morgan shook his head. "You did not keep me, we have a partnership." Leo refrained from rolling his eyes. "Besides, do you really think this guy will be willing to work with you?"

"Once I have him under proper control, he'll do whatever I want."

"Yeah, but that's not the same thing as what we have."

"No, it's not," Felix said with a smile. "Regardless, Dean is not like the others, and you have the clues to just what he is in front of you."

"What do you mean?" Morgan said, squinting at the screen dubiously.

"Grave robbery – do you remember how I told you to deal with ghosts?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Salt and burn the bones," he said as if by rote.

"How do you suppose you get to the bones?"

Morgan shrugged. "Go out to the graveyard and . . ." He trailed off, his eyes widening.

"Yes, and graveyards are often on private land, so you might be found trespassing, and to get the information about the ghosts' history, you might have to ask questions that people don't want to answer, so you pretend to be law enforcement."

"Credit card fraud?"

Felix smiled. "It's not a well paying engagement," he said. "There have been hunters for as long people have been aware of powers beyond the natural."

"So, this guy would hunt you down and kill you if he had the option."

"That is undoubtedly why he's in town," Felix said. "And I have to admit to some amusement about that. He claims to have killed witches in the past."

"How likely do you think that really is?" Morgan asked.

"It's entirely possible – a young witch might not have the wherewithal to stand up a determined team of hunters, and I suspect the brother works with him."

"Samuel Winchester?" Morgan asked, and Felix nodded, watching as his servant plugged the brother's name into a new search window. He knew more about the workings of computers than he let Morgan realize, and he had other means of finding out information, means that didn't always include magic. Much the same results came up on the computer search, similar crimes, but Sam was only dead once, not twice.

"It's as I thought. They work together, and one of them, or perhaps one of the women living with them, has a rudimentary knowledge of spellcraft, which is why I'm shielded from observing him in the apartment."

"Couldn't you break through that?" Morgan asked.

"Easily, but it would have noticeable effects on the one who cast it, and possibly on the walls where the spell was laid. I do not want to tip my hand so soon."

"You've done everything but fuck the guy," Morgan said, and Felix's mouth pursed at his crass manner of expressing himself. "Haven't you? How soon are you going 'tip your hand' or whatever you want to call it?"

"I am enjoying the chase," Felix said. His mouth curved in a predatory smile. "All the more now that I know the rabbit is chasing me."

* * *

After Dean had been in the bathroom for nearly an hour, Sam began to worry, because he hadn't turned off the shower the whole time. The water had to be ice cold by now, so either he was using the white noise to conceal something from Sam, or he was scrubbing his skin off in freezing cold water. Either way, Sam wasn't playing that game.

He walked to the door and knocked. "Dean?" he called, but there was no answer. "Dean!" He thought he heard a muffled response, but it didn't satisfy him. He started to open the door but found it locked. He pulled a pocket knife out of his pocket and forced the cheap lock without difficulty. Opening the door, he stepped inside. "Dean?"

The room was so humid that some of Dean's photographs were wrinkling, and it was chill, which told Sam that there was definitely no hot water left. The water was still going full bore, however, and he could see Dean behind the translucent shower curtain. He appeared to be scrubbing his back. Sam pulled the curtain aside. Icy water splashed off Dean and hit Sam instead of the curtain.

"Dean?" Sam said, but his brother didn't seem to hear him, and there red patches all over his torso, some of which had been scrubbed raw. Sam bent down and turned off the water.

That got Dean's attention. He jerked away from Sam in some kind of instinctive reaction. He slipped on the floor of the tub and started to go down. Sam lunged forward to try and catch him, but he slipped right through Sam's hands and smacked his head on the soap ledge before landing on his back in the tub. Sam blinked in alarm at the blood that thinned as it mixed with water on the soap ledge. "Dean? Dean!" He went down on his knees and checked Dean's pulse. It wasn't weak, but it also wasn't regular. Sam grabbed his phone and dialed three digits.

"911 Operator, what is your emergency?"

"My brother fell, he hit his head in the bathtub and now he's unconscious and bleeding."

"Can you confirm your address?" she asked. He repeated the address to her. "Please stay on the line. Paramedics are on the way."

"Right, good." He bent over Dean, who wasn't coming to. Dean had been hit in the head many times, but he usually came to pretty quickly.

"How old is your brother, sir?"

"Thirty," Dean said. "Almost thirty-one. Can I get him out of the tub, at least?"

"It would be best not to move him." Sam shook his head. He knew she'd say that, they always did. He grabbed one of the towels and draped it over him because he was shaking slightly. "Sir, the paramedics should be there shortly. Is there anything they need to know about how to get to you?"

"One second." Sam got up and strode out to the door. Taking the phone away from his face, he turned upwards and bellowed at the top of his voice. "Ellen!" A moment later, he heard feet on the stairs. "I'll have someone outside waiting for them," he said to the operator as he went back into the bathroom. He bent down and pulled Dean's eyes open. This really didn't look good.

He heard Ellen coming into the room behind him. "What's wrong – son of a bitch!"

"Can you go downstairs?" Sam asked. "I called an ambulance, and someone has to show them where to come."

"Sure, Sam, whatever you need."

He heard Ellen leave, but then he felt Jo come up beside him. "Are you sure you want to –"

"I'm sure," Sam said over the top of her.

"He'll be pissed as hell," she added.

"He can be pissed. I just . . . he's really not himself right now."

The voice on the phone spoke again. "Now, in the meantime, sir, do whatever you can to keep him warm."

"I put a towel over him – a dry towel. The tub is just really cold."

"Can you hear the sirens yet?"

Sam listened and shook his head. "Not yet . . . wait . . ." He raised his head at the distant wailing. "Yes, I think I can hear them."

"Stay with me on the phone until they're actually in the room with you." The rest of the conversation passed in a blur. He stepped back when two people in blue uniforms came in. They bustled around, strapping Dean into a neck brace and onto a backboard. He knew it was just in case, but he found it alarming nevertheless. He peppered the paramedics with questions that they didn't answer.

Before long, he was climbing into the ambulance beside Dean and the paramedics. Ellen babbled something at him, but he didn't really listen. He was too focused on trying to understand what the paramedics were saying and answering their questions. Their patient's name was Dean. Sam was his brother. He'd fallen in the shower. No, he hadn't been there very long because Sam had been in the room when he fell and so had been able to call immediately. No, no alcohol. Sam added a mental proviso of _that I know of_. No drugs. He couldn't imagine Dean taking drugs these days.

They reached the hospital and rushed Dean straight in, leaving Sam out in the waiting room with the paperwork. And his imagination. And the memory of Dean going into another emergency room wearing a brace like that and coming out in a coma.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a few comments about how Sam is being a doofus for not recognizing that it has to be more than tracking a sexual predator and acting gay that's causing Dean all this trauma and reaction, and I kind of get what you're saying, but let's be fair to Sam. He also just heard that there are sexual components to Dean's memories of Hell. That's part of what he thinks is building this trauma. He thinks the other things are bringing Dean's experiences with rape in Hell closer to the surface. Hopefully that makes him seem like less of an idiot to some of you. I mean . . . I always think Sam is kind of an idiot. For a guy who hangs his emotions on his sleeve half the time, he sure doesn't seem to see very deeply into anyone else's. But in this instance, I think you guys may be selling him short, a little.

**Chapter 26**

Dean woke up to a splitting headache and the sound of beeping. He blinked at the ceiling and saw tracks upon which curtains could run back and forth easily to create rooms. He started to sit up, but a hand came down on his chest to stop him. A surge of panic made him slap the hand away, but sitting up didn't seem nearly as much fun in action as it had in thought, so he sagged back down.

"Good to see that you're back with us," said the man standing over him. "Now, can you tell me your name?"

Dean blinked stupidly at him. What name was he using? Where the heck was he? "Dean," he said. The bar, the case, the gay waiter. "Dean Winchester," he elaborated. "What semi-truck hit me?"

"I was hoping you could tell me what happened," the guy asked. "I'm Ryan, and we need to know what you remember about what happened to you yesterday."

Dean looked around. "Where's Sam?" he demanded.

"Sam? Who is Sam?"

"My brother," Dean said, and now he really did sit up, though it made his head throb. "Where is my brother?"

"Can you describe him for me?" Ryan asked.

"Gigantic," Dean replied, and Ryan's eyebrows rose. Dean rolled his eyes. "He's insanely tall, long hair, brown." He shrugged. "He looks like Sam. Where is he?"

"I believe he's in the waiting room."

"Can you bring him in here, please?" Dean asked. "I need to see him."

"I can send someone out for him, if you want," Ryan said.

"Please."

Ryan stepped out of the little cubicle, and Dean heard him speaking. He wasn't sure what was being said, but he evaluated his condition. He had a nasty headache, and parts of his skin stung. After a few moments, Ryan came back in. "So, I have questions I need you to answer, Dean," he said.

"Okay," Dean replied, not sure whether he would be truthful or not.

"What happened to you yesterday?"

Dean blinked. Yesterday . . . "Monday?" he asked.

"That's right, Monday," Ryan said.

Shrugging, Dean said, "I . . . I woke up late, went down to the police station to answer a few questions." He blinked. "I think I was there around two hours, and then I stopped to eat at a diner." He stopped and swallowed uneasily.

"And then?" Ryan asked gently, and Dean looked up at him suspiciously. "What happened after you ate?"

Dean realized that he didn't remember eating. He remembered Rhonda, he remembered ordering, but didn't remember getting the food or eating. "What does it matter?" Dean asked. He also didn't remember exactly how he'd gotten hurt. "What happened to me?"

"Well, that's part of what we need to find out," Ryan said. "According to your brother, you fell in the tub and cracked your head on a ledge."

"Then that's what happened," Dean said, glad to be on sure footing, even if it sounded crazy. How the hell had he managed to crack his head open in the tub? Something else must have happened and that was Sammy's cover story. Craptastic cover story. He'd have to thank Sam later for making him out to be a clumsy dumbass.

"We have concerns that something more may have occurred, Dean," Ryan replied. He pursed his lips. "I have to ask you this question, and please, try to answer it honestly." Dean shrugged, growing uneasy. "Have you been sexually assaulted?"

Dean blinked at him. "Why?"

Ryan's expression grew more worried, and Dean realized that by not immediately denying the assault, he had inadvertently confirmed it. "You show signs of abrasions from compulsive cleaning, and that is one of the things we see in cases of assault." Dean shook his head, not so much in denial as in confusion. What had happened that had brought him here? He looked down at his arms, which were largely uncovered by the hospital gown. "It's okay to talk about it if you have," Ryan said.

Dean blinked at him and made a rapid calculation about how to get out of here with the least damage, to the hospital, to Ryan, who seemed like a nice enough guy, and to his own psyche. "Yeah," he said. "I've been . . . sexually assaulted." That didn't come close to describing what he'd experienced in Hell, but he sure as . . . he wasn't explaining it in detail.

Ryan nodded, looking relieved. He put a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "Then I'm afraid we'll need a rape kit, and –"

Dean held up a hand to forestall the wheels of public justice. "No, it was years ago," he said, and Ryan's brows knit. "But I had a flashback yesterday." Understanding dawned in Ryan's eyes. Dean kept his sigh of relief internal. "That's kind of why I didn't answer when you asked me what I did after eating. I don't really remember. Everything after about five o'clock is pretty vague."

"Oh, I see."

"I remember calling my brother, I remember him picking me up, and I remember going to take a shower, but . . ." He shook his head. "What happened?"

* * *

Sam stood transfixed outside the curtain, his heart suddenly beating harder. Dean was awake, and that was good, but he couldn't believe his ears. Dean, his brother Dean, calmly admitting to sexual assault, even if it was 'years ago.' He didn't know what to think.

He'd left Ellen and Jo in the waiting room, glad to finally be allowed in to see his brother. It had taken a heck of a lot longer than he'd expected.

When Dean stopped telling and started asking, he steeled himself and opened the curtain. "Dean, you okay?"

"Where were you? Why weren't you in here?"

Sam glanced up at the man standing next to Dean, Dr. Keating, and tried not to show his irritation. "They had a lot of questions, and then they wouldn't let me in because they were in the middle of a procedure. Anyway, are you okay?"

"I don't even know what happened!" Dean exclaimed, and then he winced as if his head pained him.

Sam glanced over at the doctor, but given the suspicions he hadn't voiced but had clearly felt, Sam doubted the man would leave. And Dean had already admitted to the salient facts, so it wouldn't hurt to build on the story he'd told. That it was the unvarnished truth seemed almost to be a side note. "You were in the shower for . . . a really long time, and I got worried. When I went in to check on you, the water was ice cold and you were . . . scrubbing yourself raw." He was having trouble getting the words out, the situation was freaking him out so badly. "When I turned off the water, you acted like you didn't know me, you stepped back and . . . and you slipped. Gashed your head open on the soap thing and knocked yourself out."

Dean blinked at him and reached up to touch his head. "I wouldn't," Dr. Keating said, but it was too late. Dean winced away from his own hand.

"Stitches?" Dean said in a pained voice.

"Two," Dr. Keating said. "Why didn't you just tell me all of that earlier?" he asked Sam in an exasperated tone.

"I didn't . . . I thought . . ." He shrugged. "How is he?"

"He'll live," Dr. Keating said. "Now, Dean, did you report the assault?"

Dean shook his head. "No," he said. When Dr. Keating started to say something about the statute of limitations, Dean shook his head. "Ryan!" he said intently, halting the flow of words. "It doesn't matter now anyway. The guy's been dead . . . for a while." That was a bit of an understatement. Who the hell knew when Alastair had died – the first time, at any rate? Sam didn't want to think too hard about the second time.

So, Dean was on a first name basis with Dr. Keating, which somehow startled Sam a little. Ryan nodded, looking marginally satisfied. "And you think this attack may have brought up unpleasant memories?"

"Sammy here says I've been having a lot of nightmares lately, so it's entirely possible," Dean said, smacking Sam lightly in the stomach. Sam glowered down at him. He seemed to be taking this awfully lightly.

"Well, Dean, you were unconscious for a good long while, so I'd like to admit you for observation," the doctor said.

"Hell no," Dean replied, shifting so that his feet dangled off the examination table. "I'm fine. Just need to get home and get some real sleep, I think."

Dean's phone began to ring in Sam's pocket. Ellen had brought it with her to be on the safe side and Sam had stowed it away while he waited. He pulled it out and looked. "Cas," he said briefly to Dean.

"Give it here."

"I'd better get it, you need to talk to the doctor." Dean gave him a dirty look, but he looked up at the doctor with a patient expression.

Sam stepped away and answered the phone. "Yeah, Cas?"

"Where are you?" the angel demanded in a low, tense voice.

"At the hospital," Sam replied. "I guess I should have called you, but –"

"What is wrong with Dean?"

"He got a little shocky, I guess, and he slipped and fell in the tub, cracking his head open." There was silence at the other end of the line for a moment and Sam felt compelled to fill it. "He's fine, Cas. He's working on convincing the doctor to release him."

"Do you think the doctor should release him?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "That depends on how he looks when he . . ." he trailed off, because as he spoke he turned around and saw Dean hopping off the table. His legs crumpled under him, and he reached backwards, trying to catch himself. Sam tossed the phone onto the table so he could support Dean before he hit the floor and smashed his head into anything else. Between them, he and Dr. Keating helped Dean back up onto the table. By then the phone was making agitated sounds, so he picked it up.

"– cannot locate you. Sam? Sam!"

"I think maybe he should stay here," Sam said, giving Dean an anxious look.

"Where are you?" Cas demanded, sounding irritated.

"St. Mark's Hospital," Sam said. "The emergency room."

"I guessed that much," the angel replied before he disconnected. He might not have much of a sense of humor, but he had a powerful sense of sarcasm.

"Why's the world moving?" Dean asked shakily.

"You have a concussion," Dr. Keating said.

"I've had concussions before, and I don't remember the world moving this much."

"Damn it, Dean!" Sam growled. "Lie your ass down if the world is moving."

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean said with an attempt at his usual cocky attitude.

"You are not fine!" Sam replied in a throttled voice. "You . . ." He didn't think he wanted to talk about the fugue state in front of Keating. "You were completely freaked out when I went to get you, and you freaked out again in the shower."

Dean tried to brazen it out. "Come on, Sammy, it's not like that." But Sam could see the sick fear in his eyes.

"It's exactly like that," Sam retorted. "And who could blame you? And it makes you not fine, that's just the way it is. Quit trying to tough it out."

Wide-eyed, Dean lay back on the table. "Who died and made you the boss?"

"Dad," Sam replied. "You said I was just like him."

Dean blinked at him. "That doesn't make you boss," he said. "It makes you . . ."

But Sam wasn't going to find out what it made him. A woman's voice said, "Sir, you can't be in here. Sir, I insist that you –"

"Where is Dean Winchester?" Sam and Dean's eyes met and Sam hurried to the curtain's opening.

"Cas? We're over here."

Castiel changed directions, striding straight towards him, the nurse, or doctor, or whatever she was following him. "Sir, you can't be in here."

Castiel walked past Sam to Dean where he stopped, gazing solemnly at him where he was propped up on his elbows. "You do not look well," Cas said.

"Nice to see you, too," Dean replied. The sarcasm could have been more pungent, but it looked like Dean didn't have the energy to put the required oomph into it.

"I am, of course, glad to see you conscious and aware of your surroundings. You were much less so when –"

"Sir, you have to leave. Only family is allowed in the emergency room."

Castiel turned to her with his unnerving stare, and Sam knew that she hadn't actually experienced it up till now, because she stopped talking with an uneasy stutter. Sam wondered if he was going to let that look do it, or if he was actually going to say something. "I am his lover," Castiel said in that calm, barely inflected voice of his.

"Oh," the woman said, and Sam saw Dr. Keating make a gesture dismissing her.

Sam felt frozen in place. Cas hadn't really actually said that, had he? Maybe he was going crazy and no one had bothered to tell him.

Castiel turned to the doctor. "What is wrong with Dean?"

Dr. Keating looked at Dean, who looked at least as shell-shocked as Sam felt. Dean sort of waved at him to go ahead. "Dean has a concussion," Keating said to Cas. "It knocked him unconscious, and it took him a long while to wake up."

Sam finally kicked off his discombobulation. "And they're going to admit him," he said.

"I don't want to be admitted," Dean said pathetically.

Dr. Keating grimaced. "Well, we could discharge you AMA," he said.

"No!" Sam said instantly, glaring at the way Dean perked up.

"I do not understand," Castiel said, looking at Sam.

"He's saying that they could discharge him against medical advice," Sam explained.

"From the hospital?" Cas asked.

"Yeah."

He turned back to Dean. "No. You are not well, and there is nothing I can do to fix you."

Dean rolled his eyes and thumped his head against the soft top of the exam table. Then he let out a pitiful whimper.

"What did you do?"

"The stitches are on the back of his head," Dr. Keating said. "I'll just go get the paperwork started."

"I don't have insurance," Dean said, looking stunned. He looked over at Sam. "Sammy, we don't have any ins –"

"Don't worry, Dean, I'll take care of it," Sam said. He touched Cas lightly on the shoulder and went out with Dr. Keating.


	27. Chapter 27

Dean looked up at Cas. "What's wrong now?" he asked wearily. He didn't think he could face the idea that Zachariah or Lucifer could be showing up in the next ten minutes.

"You are unwell," Castiel said soberly.

"You didn't come here because I'm in the hospital, Cas," Dean said sarcastically.

Reading Cas was like reading the fine print, Dean thought. You had to pay close attention to extremely tiny variations. He looked pained. "I am here because you are unwell," the angel said. "I sensed extreme danger to you and you could not be located. Once you were found, I saw to you, requested that Sam not leave you alone, and returned to my search."

"Oh," Dean said. "You were there?"

"I was. You were asleep and we didn't want to awaken you."

"You know, I'm not made of glass."

"No, you are made of sinew, blood and bone," Castiel replied. "All of which is susceptible to damage." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Well, so, you saw me safely asleep in the apartment. Why are you here now?"

"Because I am concerned with your safety. Every time I leave you, I return to find you missing or with new injuries or both. Do you remember what occurred while you were away from the apartment today?"

Dean shrugged uneasily. He didn't like thinking about this much. "I remember the cop shop, and I remember ordering my food, but nothing after that until I called Sammy."

"Your flashback would not have taken so much time," Castiel said.

"Sammy says you looked at it."

Now Castiel looked like he felt guilty. "I did not wish to invade your privacy, but Sam insisted that it was important, and I couldn't help but agree."

"What . . ." Dean shifted, glancing around uneasily. "What did you see?"

Castiel's brows knit. "I saw the flashback. Do you not recall it?"

Dean flushed and then he felt cold. A flash of his own screams floated through his mind along with the smell of blood and burning bone. "No, I remember it fine," he said with a shiver. "I just wasn't sure . . . what all you saw."

"I believe I saw everything," Castiel said calmly.

"But you didn't call just to see how I was."

"I returned to the apartment to see how you were," Castiel said. "No one was present, and there was blood in the bathroom."

Dean reached automatically towards the injury on the back of his head but thought better of it before he actually touched the stitches. "I guess I freaked out . . ." He gulped. "I know I freaked out in the bathroom. I think I had a sort of . . . aftershock . . . of the flashback. I didn't tell the doctor about the aftershock, or Sammy. The doctor doesn't need to know, and Sam's freaked out enough."

"You should not keep this from your brother," Cas said. "Most of the problems we've had have come from secrecy."

Dean shook his head. "This . . ." He didn't think the angel would go behind his back on this, so he decided to change the subject. "So, you thought you'd just announce that we're lovers?" he said. Castiel hadn't been very big on lying the last time Dean had tried to take him under cover.

"It rendered the woman's protests moot," Castiel replied. "Since nothing she could say or do would make me leave, it was necessary."

"Well, you've got to leave sometime," Dean said.

"I do not," Castiel said with every appearance of sincerity. Since he didn't actually fake that very well, Dean had to believe him.

"What about the search for God?"

"It can wait for a few days."

"Until when?"

"Until you can be persuaded to heed my warnings."

"Cas, seriously, you're overreacting." Castiel simply looked at him for a long moment, allowing Dean to feel his aches and pains and the sheer freakiness of his Monday. "Okay, so it was a crappy day, but that doesn't mean you're right about this whole paranoia thing."

Castiel shrugged. "I am not leaving," he said indefatigably, and Dean grimaced.

Sam came back after a few minutes. "Got the paperwork all squared away," he said. He walked up by Dean and looked at him anxiously. He seemed dissatisfied, but he shook his head and raised his eyes to Castiel. "So, Cas, what's up?"

"Dean says he had what he called an 'aftershock from the flashback' in the shower," Cas said, and Dean's jaw dropped open.

Sam turned to stare at him, and his brother knew him well enough to immediately diagnose the cause of his reaction. "You weren't going to tell me?"

Dean swallowed hard. "What difference does it make?" he asked, shooting Cas a glare.

"What diff . . ." Dean turned to look at Sam again when his brother failed to complete the sentence. He actually seemed to be struck speechless. Emotions were dancing around in his eyes and they finally came out in a strangled voice that sounded almost painful. "Dean, how many flashbacks have you had?" he demanded.

Dean found himself short on flip answers. He couldn't sustain his bravado in the face of these two being so damned insistent that he was screwed up. He looked down at his bare feet at the end of the table. "I don't know."

"You . . ." Sam sank into a chair, staring at him in befuddlement. "Why didn't you ever say anything?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't want to say that he hadn't thought Sam would be interested, at least not while Ruby was alive. And that nothing could have forced him to speak after Sam had accused him of whining. What Sam had never understood was that Dean had meant every word he'd said under the siren's influence. That fact kind of undercut Sam's claims that he hadn't.

"Dean? Can't you even give me a ballpark?" Sam asked.

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I don't know, Sam, a couple thousand, give or take?"

"A couple thousand?" Sam breathed.

"You got better about that repeating thing for a while, but it's coming back," Dean said.

"This isn't funny, Dean!" Sam exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Dean ground his teeth. "Maybe because I didn't figure you gave a shit," he said, and Sam's jaw dropped open. "I've been having them since the day I got back from Hell, Sam. I didn't think it was precisely subtle. I mean, I had one in the bathroom of that room you shared with Ruby."

"Dean, I . . ." He shook his head, his expression agonized. "I didn't know."

Dean shrugged. "By the time you were paying much attention to me, they'd dissipated some," he said. "Bobby knew." That might have been below the belt, but Dean couldn't help it. He'd spent the better part of a year floundering while his brother played merrily with his pet demon. There were still some issues there.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said.

"You know, if you never said that again about all the crap that happened that year, it would be too soon," Dean said. "I know you're sorry, I don't want to hear it anymore."

Sammy visibly swallowed another apology. "Well, I want you to tell me about this stuff now. I was an idiot and a jerk. You were never whining. Far from it."

Dean blinked at him for a moment because that was hitting _him_ hard. He gulped and cleared his throat. "Dude, what did I say about chick flick moments?"

Sam grimaced, and then he got a weird glint in his eyes. "To not to."

"Thank you, Mater," Dean said, wondering why Sammy was making references to Disney flicks again. "Anyway, mostly they're short flashes, not . . . where I'm all the way there for any length of time." He shuddered, a brief flash of how it felt to be fully restrained like that coming over him.

Sam gave him an odd look. "Like that?" he asked.

"Yeah, kinda," Dean said. He shrugged. "Dude, I don't even think they qualify as flashbacks, really."

"Yeah, Dean, they do," Sam said.

A woman pulled part of the curtain aside. "I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to wait in the waiting room while we move Mr. Winchester to a room."

"Sammy, I'm feeling much better. Why don't we just get them to discharge me, and –"

"No," Castiel said intently.

Sam just narrowed his eyes. "Do you want me to bring Ellen in here to talk to you?"

"Ellen's here?"

"Ellen and Jo both," Sam said. "In the waiting room. They kept me sane while the doctors wouldn't let me in." Sammy glowered at him. "She'll go all mommy on your ass."

"That's not fair," Dean said.

"And now you sound twelve."

The nurse came back in. "I need you both to leave," she said.

Sam nodded and turned towards the waiting room, but Castiel didn't move. "No," he said flatly.

"Cas, it's just for a few minutes," Sam said.

"Every time I leave him, he either goes missing or he gets hurt, or both. I am not leaving."

"We're not really leaving. We'll still be in the same building, and it won't be all that long." Castiel just looked at him, and Sam started squirming. "Cas, there are rules."

"I am not –"

"Cas?" Dean interjected. Castiel turned towards him. "Look, it's like ten minutes, tops, I'm already in the hospital, everyone here just wants to look after me, and you can come right on up to the room when I'm settled."

"Dean," Castiel said, his voice almost vibrating with intensity.

"I'll be fine. Wait with Sammy."

"Very well," the angel said reluctantly. "But I will not wait long." Castiel turned with a flair of his trench coat and left the curtained area. Sam, looking frazzled, followed him.

Dean had images of Castiel searching the hospital for him and banished them quickly. He looked up at the woman who was moving him. Her name tag said Jennie. "Hey, Jennie, we'd better get done quickly."

"Why, are you scared of him?" she asked.

"No, just . . . he doesn't do well when he's overly anxious. Has some syndrome that sounds like asparagus or aspergillus."

"Asperger's?" she asked.

"That's the one," Dean said. "He gets stressed, he gets a little . . ." He shrugged.

"Overwrought?"

"And over protective," Dean said.

"Who is he?"

"He's . . ." Dean stopped, he couldn't say Cas was just a friend. "He's my boyfriend," he said.

"Oh, I see. Well, we'll get you situated and bring him up to you."

Dean relaxed and tried to adjust to being stuck in the hospital when he wasn't in imminent danger of death. Hell, one of the times he'd been in imminent danger of death, he'd checked himself out, much to Sam's dismay.

He closed his eyes and let Jennie take him wherever they were going.


	28. Chapter 28

If Cas had been human, Sam would have described him as jittery. How a person – or an angel for that matter – could be jittery while standing perfectly still was difficult to imagine, but Cas managed it nevertheless.

"How is he?" Ellen asked.

"Annoying," Sam replied, and Jo looked offended. "He says he's fine and that he wants to go home. He said this at the same time as he nearly collapsed because his legs wouldn't hold him."

"You want me to see if I can get some other hunters to take this case?" Ellen asked.

Sam shook his head. "Let's see if I can talk him into leaving, first. If he won't go, there won't be any point."

"Couldn't Castiel just pop him somewhere else and be done with it?" Jo asked.

Sam was sorely tempted by the idea, but he shook his head regretfully. "Dean would be pissed."

"Do we care?" Jo demanded.

"Sam does, honey," Ellen pointed out. "I gather you convinced him to stay?"

"Yes, partly by invoking you going mommy on him, so I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Ellen said, stroking his arm in a motherly fashion. Oddly, Sam found he didn't mind it. "So, he's being moved to a room?"

"Why could I not accompany him?" Cas asked suddenly. "If they are simply moving him, it would not be troublesome to have me along."

"Hospitals have rules," Sam said. "Sometimes relatives get in the way or make things more difficult than they have to be."

"I would not."

"No, but they can't know that."

"I could tell them," Cas said, and for a second he looked like he was prepared to stride off and do exactly that.

"They wouldn't listen," Sam said. "I mean, why would they believe you?"

"I am an angel of the Lord," Cas replied.

"That wouldn't make them believe you, Cas, it would just make them decide you were crazy. It won't take that long." Sam knew that wasn't necessarily true. It could take half an hour or more, and Dean might wind up waiting in a hallway somewhere that would make leaving them behind almost criminally stupid under the circumstances, but hospitals got extremely uncooperative when you didn't follow their rules.

Fortunately, it was only another ten minutes before someone came to tell them where Dean's room was. Castiel led the way with the rest of them trailing behind. Dean had a room to himself, but there was another bed, so if it was needed, Sam had no doubt that he would wind up sharing.

Dean looked up at them with a grin and Sam resisted the urge to strangle him. "Ellen, Jo! You've come with our worrywart to check up on me, huh?"

"Worrywart my ass," Ellen said, walking over and leaning over the bed to check his forehead. Then she stroked his cheek. "You looked pretty bad lying there in that tub."

"You saw me?" Dean asked, his brows going up, and then he glanced at Jo.

Jo flushed and turned away, but Ellen just said, "Sure did."

If Jo hadn't flushed, Dean wouldn't have had to know that he was naked, but he was, as always, quick on the uptake. "Sammy!" he exclaimed in protest. "How the hell many people saw me in my birthday suit?"

"Do you really want to know?" Sam asked. Dean blinked at him and shook his head mutely. Sam turned towards the computer and made short work of the password. The hospital needed to emphasize secure passwords with its people. He looked through the record and bit his lip. CAT scan, tox screens, though the results from that weren't back yet. Blood tests of all kinds. They were clearly worried about his reactions. "When did you wake up?" he asked.

"About a minute and a half before they went to get you," Dean said, and Sam turned right around. "What?" Dean asked.

"You were out that long?" Sam exclaimed. Both Jo and Ellen looked as alarmed as he felt. "Damn it, Dean, I wondered why you hadn't insisted on me coming sooner."

Dean was giving him a confused look. "What? How long was I out?"

"Four hours," Sam said. "And you're still not steady on your feet. Maybe there's something else wrong with you."

"Sammy, I'm fine. I'm just a little tired, maybe. It's been a stressful few weeks, what with all of my friends being convinced that I'm in imminent danger of some kind."

"Do you still believe that we are wrong?" Castiel asked, and Sam empathized with his incredulity.

"This wasn't external danger, now, was it?" Dean stared intently at Cas, who stared right back, and no one did intent better than that angel. Not even other angels. "I had a flashback and freaked out. I'm fine."

Sam was in danger of losing his temper again. "You had two separate flashbacks and you freaked out both times, and one of those times you wound up naked and putting your clothes back on wrong. The other time, you flinched away from me and fell on your ass in the tub, knocking yourself out on the way. In what world is that fine?" Sam noticed that Jo had grabbed her mother and was easing her towards the door. Clearly she was made uncomfortable by the family confrontation.

"Sammy, you're . . ." Dean seemed to swallow the word he'd been about to say. "Fine. I'll stay here like a good little brother." Here he gave Sam an ironic little grimace. "One who listens to his big brother and does what he says. Maybe it will set a good example."

"I'm not your big brother, Dean."

"You're a damn sight bigger than me, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Dean relaxed against the bed and stared at the group of them. "So, what is this, a death watch?"

Sam ground his teeth to keep from growling at him. Ellen looked over at Jo and laughed. "No, Dean. Bobby's not here. If we'd thought you were dying, we'd have sent for him, don't you think?"

Dean shrugged, looking thoughtful. "I suppose that's true."

Sam blinked his eyes. Bobby. "Cas, come here for a minute," he said, grabbing the angel by the arm. "Dean, don't move."

"What if I have to pee?" Dean demanded as Sam drew the angel out of the room, into the hall.

"What?" Castiel asked irritably.

"I want you to go see Bobby," Sam said in a hurried undertone.

"I am not leaving," Castiel replied. "What about that was not clear?"

"Look, Cas, you're the only one who can get there and back with any speed," Sam said. "And Bobby needs to know about this, and I want you to ask him some questions besides."

"You don't want to call him?"

"Cas, please," Sam said imploringly. "Ask him . . . ask him about the flashbacks. Find out what he knows. I'm . . . I'm really worried here."

Cas glanced into the room. "You will not leave him?" he asked.

"Not a chance in hell. I'm gonna go into the bathroom with him."

After a moment of silent consideration, Cas said, "Very well." He stepped back into the room. "Dean, I will return shortly," he said, and then they all heard the sound of wings.

"That takes a little getting used to," Ellen commented.

"So, why don't you two head on home," Dean said. "I know Sammy's going to be a permanent fixture, but you don't need to hang out all night."

"It's not even noon yet, Dean," Jo said.

"Whatever."

"Actually, I thought we'd go get Sam something to eat since I know for a fact that he hasn't had anything more than coffee since about two this morning." Ellen bent down and gave Dean a quick kiss on the cheek. "We'll be back soon."

When they were gone, Sam sat down and glowered at Dean. "Tell me everything you haven't told me."

Dean blinked at him. "When I was twelve I kissed Mary Sue Penderheim behind the gym."

"You told me that, Dean," Sam protested.

"No, I didn't."

Sam's brows knit. "You did. You were bragging all about it that night."

"Nope," Dean said. "I told you I kissed Betty Lou Penderheim behind the gym." He grinned, and Sam remembered that he was right. "You know, the twins?"

"So you lied?"

Dean shrugged. "No, I kissed both of them, at different times."

"Did they know about each other?" Sam asked.

"Of course not, Sammy! We were leaving town that week, so it was a good chance."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, do you know skeezy that is?" Dean shrugged again. "Dude, that is so not what I meant."

A knocking on the doorframe made them both look up. Sam stared in surprise. It was Jack, Dean's friendly cop, and he was dressed in uniform. He walked in, glancing back and forth between them. "I hear we had an interesting time last night," he said. "Sam, right?"

Sam nodded. "I don't think we've really been introduced," he said.

"No, we haven't," Jack said with a smile. "I'm Officer Jack Wilson."

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked.

"Sammy, can't he visit a friend in the hospital without getting questioned about it?"

"How does he know you're here?" Sam asked. "It's not like we took out an ad in the local paper."

Dean started to reply, but then he looked at Jack. "How _did_ you know I was here?"

"Actually, the hospital called the police once they'd had a look at you," Jack said, and Sam grimaced. "They said a man claiming to be your brother had called the paramedics and come in with you, but that they were concerned that there was more to what had happened than they'd been told."

"They called the cops on me?" Sam said, his teeth grinding again. "No wonder they wouldn't let me in to see you."

"They thought Sammy beat me up?" Dean said, sounding incredulous. "No! That hasn't happened in months." Then his eyebrows drew together. "Wait, no, they thought he'd . . ." He glanced over at Sam. "That's just gross, man."

"What?" Sam asked.

"They thought I'd been . . . sexually assaulted. You know that."

"You mean they thought I –?" Sam shuddered.

"They weren't sure they believed you were brothers," Jack said. "Not till they saw you interacting. By the time I got here, they were pretty sure that it had all been a misunderstanding, but I had to come talk to you anyway."

"Until they saw us interact?" Dean repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Apparently, you act like brothers," Jack said.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Sam, I think we've just been insulted."

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

"See, now that's a tone that can only be achieved by siblings," Jack said. "Or maybe kids to their parents."

Sam snorted. "Well, that fits both ways," he said. "He's my brother, but he raised me."

"Oh yeah?" Jack asked. "Well, just to do this right, Sam, will you step outside and talk to my partner?"

"No," Sam said. "I'm not leaving."

Jack gave him a startled look. "Mr. Winchester," he started to say, but Sam cut him off.

"No. I promised I wouldn't leave him, and every time I turn my back lately, something bad happens. I'm not leaving."

"You'll just be outside."

"No, I won't, because I'm not leaving."

"I have to ask your brother some questions about what happened during the night."

"Well, that's going to net you not much. You can ask his doctors. He doesn't remember anything past getting into the shower."

"I need to hear that from him."

"I don't remember anything past getting into the shower," Dean said dryly. Jack glowered at him. "Honestly, Jack, the last thing I remember before waking up here was climbing into the shower," he said. "So, I slipped and fell, that makes me a clumsy dork."

"Those marks on your arms," Jack said, glancing at Sam like he wished he'd disappear. "Do you have any like them elsewhere on your body?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, so what?"

"Compulsive cleaning is a sign of stress after a sexual assault, Dean, and I can't help but wonder if there's something to the doctors' worries – not that Sam did anything," he added hastily when Dean started to explode. "But that someone did."

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam kept his mouth shut. He didn't know what Dean wanted told, and that put him at a nasty disadvantage under these circumstances. "Look, Jack, I . . ." Dean trailed off, his eyes distant. "I don't like talking about this, okay? I had a flashback to something nasty, probably triggered by stress, and . . . and that's the last thing I remember. The flashback."

"Flashback to what?"

Dean looked up at him warily. "Does it matter?"

"Look, Dean, sexual assault is a crime that gets underreported, and I'd just like to feel sure that you aren't one of that kind of statistic."

Dean closed his eyes, and Sam wanted to take Jack by the arms and shake him. "Yeah, Jack, I am part of that statistic," Dean said, and then he raised his gaze to Jack, who appeared completely calm, but Sam was looking at the man's eyes. He looked angry and upset if you know what to look for. Dean cleared his throat. "But the assault was years ago, and frankly, it's overshadowed by all the other crap the bastard did to me. Besides, he's dead and there's nothing that can be done to him or about him now, so I don't see a lot of point in talking about it."

"Dean, I'm . . . I'm sorry," Jack said.

"Oh God, we are so not having a chick flick moment," Dean exclaimed, and Sam clapped his hand over his eyes. He couldn't believe Dean was going there. "I am absolutely not having a chick flick moment with a cop, especially a cop I barely know. In a hospital. In Utah."

Jack blinked at him. "I'm sorry, I –"

"Nothing to be sorry for," Dean replied. "Anyway, I had a –" Dean paused, staring at nothing for a second, and Sam got the impression that his brother had left the building. Then his eyes focused again, and he said, "I had a flashback, and then, from what Sammy says, he interrupted it and I jerked away, slipping and falling and cracking my head open. End of story. Not much to tell, really, just me being a freak."

"You're not a freak," Sam protested.

"He's right, Dean," Jack said. "This is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Braining myself in the shower is nothing to be ashamed of?" Dean spoke like he thought they were both nuts. "Anyway, Sammy did nothing wrong, unless you count insisting that I stay in the hospital when all that's wrong with me is an insufficiently hard head."

"Can you tell me about your friend Cas?" Jack asked, and Sam's jaw dropped. Dean let out an aggravated growl, which Jack seemed to ignore. "Sam wasn't real communicative that night I went to check up on you, but not everyone was so closemouthed."

Dean grimaced and put his head carefully down on the pillow, looking away. "Great."

"I understand he's stalking you," Jack said.

"He is not stalking me!" Dean exclaimed, rubbing his forehead. "And now I'm going to have to beat on Martin."

"Can you help me understand why someone might think this Cas was stalking you? Maybe I can talk to Cas myself."

Dean shook his head. "Cas was calling me a lot when I first started working there. Martin got the wrong idea, and then when he showed up, well, he's a very intense guy. Sam, help me out here, what's the name of that syndrome?"

"Asperger's," Sam said. When Jack showed no comprehension, he added, "It's on the spectrum of autistic disorders. High functioning, high intelligence, but there is a marked lack of social skills."

"My God, you sound like a textbook," Dean interjected. "And that's a perfect example of why Sam never gets laid."

"Dean!" Sam was getting irritated. For one thing, Jack had made him very self-conscious about the tone he said that in.

"You might want to put that in your report," Dean said to Jack. Then he spoke slowly, as if dictating. "Sam doesn't get laid because he's a walking textbook."

"I'll take that under advisement," Jack said with a straight face. "Go on, Mr. Winchester."

Sam gave Dean a stern look. "Okay, um . . . Cas . . . well, he stares a lot. Martin misinterpreted the cues because he's not used to compensating for Cas's condition."

"Well, what about letting me talk to him?"

Sam turned to Dean. This really wasn't his area. Dean was looking soberly up at Jack. "Are you a dick?" he asked.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

"Am I a dick?"

"Yeah, dude, it's a simple question. Are you a dick?"

"I don't think so," Jack said, looking perplexed.

"Cas is an illegal alien. He doesn't have any ID, and he's not real good at dealing with authority figures. He means no harm, and he's a good guy, but it would be awkward having him talk to a cop."

"And he's your boyfriend?"

"We have kind of a weird relationship," Dean said. "But we're real close."

"Okay," Jack said after a moment. "Well, then, I'll mark this one closed." He reached down and tapped Dean's foot. "See you." Dean nodded. Jack turned to Sam. "Keep on taking care of him, it seems like he needs it." Giving him a wave, Jack left the room and Sam sank into the chair. It was beginning to feel like a sign.

"You know, that doesn't mean anything, Sammy. You can go home if you need to."

"I'm not leaving, Dean," Sam said. "Get used to it. I'm going to walk you to the toilet and walk you back."

"It's right over there, Sammy," Dean protested.

"I don't care." Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam leaned closer. "Now, talk. I want to know what you flashed back to while you were talking to Jack."

Dean's brows knit. "I didn't," he said. "What are you talking about?"

Sam shrugged. "There was a moment . . . I guess I misinterpreted." He grimaced. "I'm going to be paranoid every time you look distracted, I think."

"Goody," Dean said sourly. "Maybe we should figure out a checklist so you don't ask me that at random moments. First off, glance around and see if there are any girls walking by. If the answer is yes, there's a good chance I'm looking at her. Or thinking about her. Or thinking about things I could be doing with her."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right." He leaned closer to the bed. "Dean, you have to . . . I'd really like it if you would . . . can you please tell me . . . Dean . . ." He floundered to a stop.

"That was a model of coherency, Sammy," Dean said solemnly.

Sam grimaced and snorted. "Yeah." Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly and turned to look his brother full in the eyes. "Look, Dean, I know I lost my right to ask you about Hell when I said those things in Bedford. Even more so when I beat you to the floor and half-strangled you right before . . ." He gulped down an apology that Dean had already told him he didn't want to hear. "But I'm asking anyway."

"What exactly do you want me to tell you?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head helplessly. "Everything?"

"I was in Hell for forty years, Sammy," Dean replied. "It would probably take most of that to tell you 'everything.' Besides, I was never big on the caring and sharing thing to start with."

"Dean, I screwed up, I know that, but I want to help you."

"Help me what?" Dean asked, clearly utterly lost. "I told you once before, this wasn't a crappy day, it was forty years of absolute Hell, made worse by the knowledge that if I hadn't broken before the angels got to me, you'd never have been able to kick off the grand event."

Sam blinked at his brother. "Dean, has it never occurred to you that they might have . . . I don't know . . . delayed the rescue somehow?"

"Now that's a cheery thought," Dean said flippantly.

"Until after you broke," Sam added, finishing the thought.

All the color drained from Dean's face, and he stared at Sam with wide eyes full of horror. "Not Cas."

"Since the whole idea was to start the Apocalypse anyway," Sam continued, the idea pulling him onward despite Dean's reaction.

Dean leaned forward, seeming desperate. "Not Cas!" he repeated.

Sam shook his head, finally recognizing that Dean needed to be reassured. "Not Cas," he said, nodding. "Never Cas. But Zachariah?"

"Asshat," Dean muttered, his eyes going dark. He leaned back to the bed again.

"Seriously, I think Cas was wholly on your side until they grabbed him and ass-reamed him in Heaven," Sam said. "And I'd be willing to bet that Zachariah never showed himself until later because he knew we'd recognize the used car salesman quality of him." He shook his head. "Frankly, he seems more like a demon than –" He broke off, because Dean wasn't hearing a word. Dean's whole body was shaking, his eyes were unfocused and his fists were clenched.


	29. Chapter 29

Working purely on instinct, Sam leaned close and grabbed his brother's hand in both of his, cradling the fist. "Dean, come back. Dean? You're in Salt Lake City, in St. Mark's Hospital, and you're pissed at me for bringing you here." He kept it up, trying to reorient his brother on the here and now. It took longer than Sam would have expected, but finally Dean's hand relaxed in his. A moment later, the fingers curled around Sam's hand and squeezed. Sam gulped against a sudden emotional reaction that he knew would freak Dean out and piss him off at the same time.

He knew Dean had come totally to himself again when his brother pulled his hand away. Sam decided he wouldn't mention it if Dean didn't. Sam dropped his head and looked at the floor. That had been a seriously intense experience. He felt tears burning in his eyes and forced them down again. He wasn't going there. Dean would not appreciate it. And he didn't particularly want to be called a girl at this moment.

"Well, there's one reason I don't particularly want to talk about Hell," Dean said, his voice shaky.

Sam looked up. "What . . . what did you see?" Dean shook his head. "Dean, it might be important in terms of dealing with this stuff."

"Dealing with it, Sammy? How many times do I have to tell you, you don't deal with Hell. You live with the memories and ignore them as much as you can."

"Dean, tell me what you saw, please? I want to know what I . . . what I caused."

"You didn't cause me to go to Hell, Sammy. I did that my dumbass self when I sold my soul."

Sam blinked at him. "I meant the flashback."

Dean flushed and shrugged. "Why, so you can beat yourself up about it?"

"Dean?" Sam asked imploringly.

"That is just unfair," Dean said, staring at him. He rubbed his hand down his face and grimaced. After a few seconds, he spoke in a voice that was barely audible. "It was the rescue."

"The rescue?" Sam said.

Dean snorted with an attempt at humor. "Repeating, again. Must be an aftereffect of the swine flu." Sam rolled his eyes, trying to pretend that Dean had managed to convey the humor he was making such a stab at. "Yeah, the rescue. Odd thing is I never really remembered it before."

"You didn't? I thought you remembered all of Hell."

"I didn't . . ." Dean covered his face and turned away. "Sammy, I can't talk about this."

"Dean, this has to be a good memory, doesn't it?" Dean didn't move or speak. "Doesn't it?"

Dean turned on him. "I was terrified, okay? This great big glowing thing descended on me and grabbed hold of me. I didn't know what it was, I didn't know why it was there, I just knew that Alastair freaked out the minute he saw it."

Sam nodded. "I can see that. It's a completely natural reaction."

"And then when I did figure out what Alastair thought it was, I became absolutely convinced that it was there to smite my ass."

"Dean, all of that is understandable."

"But it doesn't exactly make it a good memory, Sammy," Dean said, and Sam nodded sympathetically. "And then . . . there was this pain. Incredible, searing pain, and then I woke up – without any memories of how I'd gotten there – in a tiny box underground. Thank God you'd left my lighter on me, or I might never have gotten out."

Sam shook his head, not wanting to examine that idea too closely. "I wonder what would have happened if I'd let Bobby have his way and we'd cremated you."

"It would have been considerably harder to bring him back," Castiel said, and both of them started. He tilted his head. "It might have required my death."

Sam's jaw dropped. "I'm really glad we didn't do that, then," he said. "And if I got to be right about one thing, at least it was a really important thing."

"Dean, you need rest," Castiel said.

"It's eleven in the frickin' morning!" Dean exclaimed. "I'm not sleepy."

"Dean, you have bags under your eyes, and you look gray," Sam retorted. "If you're not sleepy, then you should be."

A nurse bustled in and looked at Dean's vitals. "Now, Mr. Winchester, you need to get some rest. If your visitors are tiring you out –"

"No!" Dean said instantly, and she blinked at his emphatic response. "I don't want them to go," he said in a little calmer tone. "I just don't feel much like sleeping right now."

"Okay, well, I'll be around. My name is Ivy, and I'm in charge of your care for this shift." She nodded at the whiteboard across the room that had a number of names and job titles on it.

"Thanks, Ivy," Dean said with a ghost of his usual winning smile. Ivy responded to it like every woman alive seemed to, with an increase of warmth in her eyes and manner.

Ellen and Jo passed her on her way out, and the smell wafting from the bags they carried made Sam's stomach sit up and take notice.

"Unless some of that's for me, take those right back outside," Dean said truculently.

"I got you a turkey sandwich," Ellen said.

Dean grinned broadly at her. "You're my favorite," he said to Ellen confidingly. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Or is this a tryptophan thing? Are you conspiring with Sam to make me go to sleep?" He turned to Sam. "Did you tell her to get me turkey?"

"Dude, I didn't even tell her what to get me."

"And you're cruising towards missing out on the sandwich," Ellen remarked.

"Sorry!" Dean said instantly, turning wide eyes on her. "You're still my favorite. I like you better than him, and him and her." He pointed at each one of them in succession. "He's too whiny, he's too serious and she's too grumpy."

"I see," Ellen said, looking immensely amused. Sam rolled his eyes, Castiel merely looked puzzled and Jo pursed her lips irritably and crossed her arms. Ellen handed Dean a white bag and then gave Sam one. "We already ate, and I think we'll be heading home. You call us if you need us, Sam. Jo's going to work tonight, but I'll be home."

Sam nodded and pulled a chicken caesar salad out of his bag, seating himself beside Dean. None of them spoke while Dean and Sam ate. They were too busy eating, and Castiel didn't seem to have anything to say. Sam itched to get him alone to ask him what Bobby had said, but that would have to wait till Dean fell asleep. Which he showed no sign of doing despite clear evidence of exhaustion.

"Dean, you need to get some real rest," Sam said.

"You're the one who looks like the walking dead," Dean replied. "Go find an open stretch of floor, sasquatch, just make sure you don't block any doorways."

"I'm not going to lie down anywhere until you fall asleep, Dean." Dean glared at him. "Look, I'm right here, Cas is right here. You'll be fine, just close your eyes and –"

Castiel reached in and touched Dean between the eyes with two fingers, and Dean conked out instantly. Sam blinked, then turned to look at the angel. "First off, don't ever do that again with asking, and second, that was awesome."

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Who should I ask?" Sam opened his mouth, then stopped to think. "If I had asked Dean, he would have said no."

Sam grimaced and didn't answer the question. He cleared his throat. "So, what did Bobby say?"

"Well, he called you an idjit," Castiel replied. Sam crossed his arms and tried not to get irritated. Castiel shrugged very slightly. "I am not certain what this means, but he said it several times. And he said that he'd noticed the flashbacks immediately after Dean got back. He told me that they generally last no more than seconds and he is alarmed by the notion that Dean had one that lasted approximately five minutes, followed by another several hours later, though we cannot be sure of the length of that one."

"And the fugue?"

"He found that disturbing as well. He is looking in his books, but as no one has ever come back from Hell in the way that Dean did, I do not know what he hopes to find."

"Books are Bobby's reflex," Sam said. He sighed and looked at his brother. "I've never seen him like this, Cas. Not after Dad died, not right after he got back, never."

"He kept himself hidden from you," Castiel said, and Sam looked up at him, startled. "He learned that from your father."

"You mean, he was like this before?"

"Not like this precisely, but he has had moments of doubt, of uncertainty, but he is the eldest. It is his responsibility to be certain."

Sam's eyes widened. "That's bullshit!"

"That is family," Castiel replied. "And when you were seven, you would not have felt safe if your brother had been uncertain of what needed to happen, would you?"

"That's not fair," Sam said.

"What is?" Castiel asked, and he seemed altogether serious.

Sam didn't have an answer for that. He turned back to face Dean. "Gabriel said it always had to be us," he said. "Do you think that was true?"

"I do not know," Castiel said.

Sam sat contemplatively for a moment. "Did Zachariah deliberately delay Dean's rescue to make sure he broke?" Castiel didn't immediately reply, so Sam twisted around to look at him. The angel seemed to take pity on his position and walked to the foot of Dean's bed where he could see him without turning. "I mean, since that was Zachariah's goal, I just wondered."

Castiel pursed his lips. "There were . . . inefficiencies and . . . foolish orders. I did not question them at the time, assuming that I could not see the whole picture as my superiors could." Sam stared at him. "I no longer believe that."

"So Dean suffered for forty years in Hell because Zachariah is bored and wants paradise."

"It might have taken time to reach him in any case. Hell was firmly fortified."

"Forty years?" Sam asked.

"No," Castiel replied. "If the simple goal had been to rescue Dean before he broke, we could have done it in far less. So I believe."

Sam ground his teeth and looked at his brother. "If I could kill Zachariah, I would hunt him down and –"

"As you did Lilith?" Castiel asked, and his voice had an odd, testing note in it.

Sam's brain froze. Part of him was pissed off at Castiel for questioning him, for bringing his cataclysmic error up at all. Another part of him was grateful, because he'd just seen how easily he could start down that road again. Emotion roiled in him, and he forced himself to recognize what he was feeling. He hated Zachariah as much as he'd hated Lilith, but if he let that hate consume him, he would forget Dean's well-being again. That wasn't a path he wanted to take.

"It might have been longer," Castiel said, and Sam looked up at him, feeling a new horror start. "I sensed something that the others in my garrison did not."

"What are you saying?" Sam asked.

"I zigged when I was told to zag," Castiel said. "I found Dean by my own efforts, not by remaining with the group."

"You disobeyed?"

"Our orders were to find and rescue Dean Winchester," Castiel replied. "I was merely . . . more efficient than my brothers and sisters."

"Well, thank God for that," Sam said, feeling stunned by the mere thought of Dean having spent any more time in Hell.

Castiel nodded. "Perhaps."

Sam absorbed the meaning of Castiel's one-word response, then yawned hugely. "Did you have to burn him?" he asked.

Castiel looked down at Dean. "It could not be helped. My touch was painful to him because he had already begun to change. My grip burned away some of the transformations that Hell had wrought in him."

Sam sat forward, any thoughts of tiredness forgotten. "He'd started to change?" he asked urgently.

Castiel's brows knit. "Yes."

"Like change? Like demon change? Like really change? In forty years?"

"He loathed himself for breaking, and that accelerated the change."

"He said he liked it," Sam said, not looking up from Dean's hands, so still on the bed. "I know he couldn't have, but . . ."

"You know as well as I do that destruction has its pleasures," Castiel said, and Sam shifted uncomfortably. "They are poisonous if indulged in too long, but there is pleasure there."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. Dean's a better man than me, Cas."

"Yes," the angel said, and Sam grimaced at the flat affirmation. "However, no man is perfect. No angel, either."

"It's just so not Dean," Sam said.

"You have to remember that all of the people that Dean encountered in Hell had gone there by their own actions, some of them extremely heinous."

"Dean was there. He didn't deserve it. There were others who's only sin was selling their soul to a crossroads demon that they didn't summon and probably didn't even believe in."

"Those were far outnumbered by those who earned their places in Hell," Castiel replied.

Sam ran his fingers deep into his hair. "I can't say that Dean has never wanted to hurt anyone, that would be . . . you wouldn't believe it." Castiel didn't respond, but there was a slight curve to his lips. "But . . . the kind of damage he described Alastair doing to him, I just can't see him dealing it out."

"I cannot answer your questions, Sam," Castiel said. "I know only what I saw when I arrived."

"What, then?" Sam asked, looking up at him earnestly.

"Telling you would be an invasion of Dean's privacy, but it did not involve him participating in the torture of another."

Sam stared at him, not sure what that meant exactly. "But, Cas, I . . ."

"I cannot tell you. I do not think he would find it easy to forgive."

Sam sighed. "I know that's the truth," he muttered. "Damn it. I just want to help, but . . . would it help him to talk about it?"

"I do not know," Castiel said. Sam stared at him helplessly, and Cas seemed to see a further question in his eyes. "I am not omniscient."

"I know," Sam said. He leaned forward and put his head on his crossed arms. He sighed deeply, and then he looked up. He saw Castiel's fingers coming towards his face, and then nothing.


	30. Chapter 30

Felix sat back and considered the conversation he'd been observing. Hell. Heaven. Forty years. Angels. Apocalypse. It had to be some kind of code, Dean wasn't more than thirty, so whatever hell he'd spent time in couldn't have lasted nearly that long. But whatever they were talking about related to the flashback Dean had experienced in the motel room. And clearly the witch who had blocked his view of the apartment had visited Dean in the hospital, because Felix couldn't get a clear view right now.

Twice since he'd started observing the hospital room, the view had become clouded. It wasn't either of the women because he'd seen them well enough. Ellen and Jo, no doubt short for Johanna or some similar name. But the four of them had mentioned a fifth, someone called Cas. The constable had mentioned him as well, as someone with whom Dean had a close, possibly intimate relationship. He quelled a surge of jealousy. He had no need to worry. No one had ever bested him on the field of courtship.

Another name had been mentioned as well. Zachariah. Having less than half the story was immensely frustrating. The brothers obviously disliked this Zachariah, and he seemed to be opposed in their minds somehow to Cas. Neither name was familiar to Felix from those of his kind that he had encountered over the years, but if they were to hear of Felix rather than Lu-Ninurta, they would be no wiser. Perhaps they were opposing witches who had selected these brothers as their battleground. If so, it would be no matter. Felix would steal the prize from beneath them while they locked horns with each other. They could keep Sam.

He needed more information, but scrying on an unknown fellow witch would be foolhardy. This Cas, if the visitor was he, was powerful enough to have a passive shield that blocked Felix's bowl. That was powerful indeed.

He had sent Morgan off to run a few errands and take care of whatever business he had himself. He was growing tiresome. He missed his last lover. Gerard had been so pleasant, so obedient, and he had never developed this irritating possessiveness that Morgan had begun to display. He sighed thoughtfully. Dean bid fair to be similar to Gerard. Sweet, passionate . . . and moldable.

Setting the bowl aside, he closed his eyes and made use of his circle for another purpose. Sinking himself deep in meditation, he sent out a call for spirits, Heavenbound earthbound and Hellbound, who had, in life, had dealings with Dean Winchester.

* * *

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder, and he woke up abruptly, aware that Cas has put him to sleep without permission. He turned and glared up at Cas. "I –"

Castiel cut him off. "The doctor wishes to speak to you," he said.

Sam looked towards the door and blinked. Dr. Keating was waiting expectantly. "Doctor, of course," he said, glancing first at Dean before giving Cas an anxious look.

"Out in the hall, if you don't mind, Mr. Winchester," Dr. Keating said in a quiet voice. "I'd like to avoid waking Dean if I can."

Sam stood up, stretching. He'd fallen asleep in a less than optimal position, though he didn't feel quite as stiff as he might have expected. He followed Dr. Keating out into the hall and down to a spot equidistant from two rooms. "What's up?" he asked.

"Can I get some family history?"

"I filled out the forms," Sam said. "What do you want to know?"

"You said your parents were both dead." Sam nodded. "What did they die of?"

Sam blinked at him. "Our father died as the result of a car wreck, and our mother was killed when our house burned down."

"Oh." Dr. Keating nodded. "How about your grandparents?"

"My father's father abandoned them. I don't know what happened to him," Sam said. "And as far as his mom goes, I just know that she died of natural causes."

"And your mother's parents?"

Sam grimaced. He really didn't want to go into the particulars. "They died violently," he said. "Why do you want to know?"

"Some anomalies turned up in your brother's blood tests."

"And you wanted to see if there was anything obvious in our family to point to a cause?" Sam asked, alarmed. "Well, there's not. Both my parents were only children, and I have no idea how Dad's parents died. What are you looking for?" He racked his brain for hereditary illnesses that might show up in the tests they'd done so far. "Heart disease? Cancer?" Keating's eyes twitched at the second word, and Sam's heart made a little jump. "You think he has cancer?"

"It's among the possibilities that we look at when certain test results come up."

"What results?"

"For one thing, he has a high white blood cell count."

"That could be lots of things, couldn't it? Not necessarily cancer."

"It could be any number of things, I just wanted to find out if there were any clear indicators to follow up on."

"So you want to do more tests?" Sam asked.

"Yes. We'll have to talk to your brother about that when he wakes up."

"He's going to say no," Sam said.

"We'll see," Dr. Keating said optimistically. "In the meantime, can you tell me what caused that appalling burn on his left shoulder?"

This wasn't the first time a doctor had asked Sam about that, so he had an answer ready. "Dean got involved with a strange religious group for a while, some years back." He shrugged. "I guess, from what I've heard, he was one of the lucky ones."

"So, there's nothing actionable?" Dr. Keating asked.

Sam gave him a dark grimace. "If there was, trust me, I would already have done something about it."

Dr. Keating nodded, appearing satisfied. "Give me a call when your brother wakes up and we'll see about those tests."

Sam watched the doctor walk away, wondering just how much effort it was going to take to convince Dean to go for it.

* * *

"No," Dean said emphatically, and his brows knit at the look that passed between Ryan and Sam. He scowled at the both of them. "What, did Sam tell you I would object?"

"He did, but Dean, I wish you would reconsider. I just need some more blood to start with, and we can see where that takes us."

"You already have my blood," Dean protested. "You just said there were anomalies in it."

"We took just enough for the tests we did," Ryan replied soothingly. "We'll need more to do further testing."

"Dean, please?" Sam said.

"What the hell," Dean growled sarcastically. "It's not like I need the stuff to survive, or anything. Take it all."

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed. "They wouldn't take any if they didn't think it was necessary."

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean said, glaring up at him. "I'm only still here because you and Cas begged me to stay. I don't need any stupid tests."

Sam rolled his eyes. "We wanted you to stay because the doctors said you needed to," Sam replied, maintaining a calm voice somehow. "And now the doctors want to make a few more tests. What's the harm?"

"I don't know, but I'm not doing it."

Sam glanced over at Dr. Keating. "We'll call you if he changes his mind," he said.

The doctor nodded and left. Sam sat back down and stared at Dean who met him gaze for gaze. "He said cancer was one of the possibilities," Sam said, and Dean blinked. Sam turned towards Castiel and cleared his throat. "How sure are you that Zachariah actually took all the cancer out of Dean's gut?"

"I believe that he did," Castiel said, his brows knitting. He turned to gaze anxiously at Dean.

"That's a cheery thought," Dean said, grimacing at the memory of the pain Zachariah had meted out to him. Then he shrugged. "Not that it matters. He won't let me die. He can't afford to."

Sam gave him a disgusted look, then addressed himself to Cas. "Could that be a reason you'd have worry about Dean's well being?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, the danger I sense is external," he said.

Dean looked back and forth between them. For all their verbal concern about him, they were paying him no attention at all. "Dude, I'm not giving them any more blood, and I'm sure as hell not letting them slide me into any of their damned machines."

Sam turned to him, those puppy dog eyes practically brimming with entreaty. "Dean, let them take a little more blood and see where it leads them. Please?"

Dean tried to harden his heart. Somehow he could hold off Zachariah when he offered pain, but when Sam gave him that look, he caved. Even after all that had happened, he caved. "Whatever. But no damned machines."

Sam nodded, clearly counting his victory won, and Dean rolled his eyes. Within moments, a nurse came in with a wheelchair. "Mr. Winchester? Can you get up?"

"Sure," Dean said, giving her his winning smile. The name on her badge said Linda. She had dark hair and freckly skin. He'd guess her at about forty, and he saw a ring on her finger. Still. "For you, Linda, anything." She lowered the rail and Dean turned sideways, putting his legs off the edge of the bed. Linda offered him her hand, but he just shook his head. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said, rising to his feet. "But I don't even really need the wheelchair." He looked down at himself, feeling the breeze on his privates, and on his behind. "I could, however, use a pair of undershorts."

Linda smiled and held out a robe. "Here, put this on. It should help you feel a little less uncovered." He did as she asked and let her guide him into the chair. When he made to protest, she said, "Hospital policy, Mr. Winchester."

"Dean, please. I'm not that formal." When Sam started to walk alongside, Dean held up a finger. "You, stay here. She's just drawing blood. Unless she's a vampire, I'm safe as houses, right?"

"I assure you, I'm not a vampire."

"Stay here, Sammy, I'll be fine with Linda."

Sam looked ready to argue, but Cas put a hand on his shoulder. Dean sat back in the wheelchair and said, "So how are you doing today, Linda?" Cas had his back. He'd keep Sammy in line.

* * *

Sam turned on Cas as Dean rolled out of the room, but before he could speak, the angel raised a finger to his lips. Speaking softly, he said, "I can accompany him unseen." And then he was gone.

Sam sat down and tried to marshal his whirling thoughts. He was very glad that Cas was with Dean. Handy that the angel had the ability to watch them without being . . . how often had he done that? Now that he thought about it, it seemed kind of creepy. On the other hand, it enabled him to keep Dean under surveillance at the moment.

He decided not to think about it – not right now, at any rate. He dug his phone out of his pocket. He hit speed dial and put the phone to his ear. Three rings and then an irascible voice. "What, Sam?"

"Bobby, did Dad ever tell you how his mom died?"

"No, Sam, he didn't. Why do you ask?"

"It could be important," Sam replied.

"Why, do you think she was killed by demons?"

Sam shook his head. "No, Bobby, I mean medically important. The doctor was asking me how all my family members died, and all the ones I know how died don't help medically. I mean, fire, car wreck, murder, none of that tells us if we've got a family tendency towards cancer."

"Cancer? Why is that coming up?"

"The doctor wants to do more tests because of some anomalies in Dean's blood work, and I can't help thinking, what if he's really sick? I mean, what if he's sick in a totally mundane and ordinary kind of way, something that can't be fought off? Cancer, or leukemia, or something fatal and incurable? Bobby, what do I do?"

"Sam, calm down."

"He won't do the tests, either. I had to beg him to let them draw blood, but he says no machines. Bobby, how do I convince him to do what the doctors tell him?" He ran his fingers into his hair again, finding tangles and yanking them out. "And these flashbacks, the one yesterday was long, Bobby. And then he had another one in the shower that made him start scrubbing himself raw, and then another one earlier today, and I don't know what to do. He won't talk to me, and I . . . I need to help him, Bobby." There was no sound on the other end of the line. "Bobby? Bobby, did this call –"

"I'm here, Sam, I just wasn't sure you were through," Bobby said. "You're going to be able to help him, Sam, but you have to stop stressing so much."

To his dismay, Sam felt tears coming. "I just . . . I screwed everything up, Bobby. And I do mean everything."

"Sam, give it a rest," Bobby said. "You had help, and the milk is spilt already. No point in rehashing it."

"Bobby, Dean is reliving the crap he suffered through in Hell, and I don't know how to help him. What if . . . oh my God."

"Sam?" Sam was caught in a thought that had him deeply freaked out, and he found himself unable to respond immediately. "Sam, can you hear me?" He heard muttering. "Sam, you idjit, did you drop the phone or something?"

"No, Bobby," Sam said finally. "What if he has a brain tumor? Something like that could cause the flashbacks to increase, couldn't it?"

"Son of a gun," Bobby muttered. "You're borrowing trouble, Sam." Sam didn't reply. He heard Bobby talking in the background and wondered who he was talking to. Tiffany, probably. He gulped and tried to remember what the other symptoms of brain tumors were.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Ellen ran to pick up her phone, but the call had already gone to voicemail. She saw Bobby's name, though, and dialed back, figuring he'd hang up on voicemail to get her live. So it proved. "Ellen, where are you?"

"At the apartment," she replied. "I just –"

"Get down to the hospital, would you?"

Ellen's eyes widened. Why would Bobby . . . "What's wrong? Is Dean –"

"I don't know how the hell Dean is, but Sam is nearly hysterical. I don't know what the doctors said to him, but he's off on a riff about cancer and brain tumors and he's freaking himself out."

"Cancer? Did the doctors say cancer?"

"I don't know, they asked about family history and that's about as much as I've gotten out of him that I can be sure comes from a source other than his fertile imagination. Hang on." She could hear him talking in the background, clearly on another phone. Meanwhile, she was grabbing coat and keys and making sure nothing that shouldn't be left on was. "Ellen?"

"Yeah, I'm still here." She shut the door and locked it before hurrying down the stairs, thanking heaven that Sam had left the keys to that ridiculous little Festiva he'd been driving. She climbed in and slammed the door. "Where is Sam?"

"I convinced him to go out to the waiting room. I guess Dean is at the lab, and Cas is with him. I figure the last thing Dean needs right now is for Sam to go nutty all over him."

"Probably not," Ellen replied. "Those boys!"

"Bet you never figured on adopting a pair of grown men at this stage in your life," Bobby remarked, and Ellen snorted.

"I always hoped to be adopting at least one around now, but I figured, whoever it was, he'd be marrying Jo."

Bobby let out a grating laugh. "I don't think either of those boys is likely to go in that direction," he said. "I can just see you, one of these days, running a home for wayward sons."

Ellen ignored that sally. "This little car you sent Sam out in is a piece of crap, Bobby," she said.

"It was what I had running," Bobby replied. "And I always have to assume I'm not getting whatever they take back when they're done with it."

"You still got Sam on the phone?"

"I do. He's nattering on about the symptoms of brain tumors. I hope no one is near enough to hear him. He really sounds demented, but he won't listen to me."

"What makes you think he'll listen to me?" Ellen asked curiously.

"You'll be right there in front of him," Bobby pointed out. "Ready and able to shake him to get your point across."

"I'm going to hang up now," she said.

"Sure, leave me alone with a nutso Winchester."

She snorted. "Call me if you have something I need to know, and I'll keep you posted."

"Do that."

When Ellen reached the hospital, she hurried up to the waiting room that was nearest to Dean's room. Sam wasn't there. She went down to Dean's room and found Sam sitting in the chair by the bed, slumped and staring at the screen of his laptop. He looked so disconsolate that her heart went out to him. "Sam, what is it?"

"Dean has a brain tumor," he said, looking up at her.

He said it with such confidence that, despite Bobby's insistence that this was all a product of Sam's imagination, Ellen felt a flare of panic. "The doctors told you that?"

"No, but the symptoms fit. Lack of balance, personality changes, mood swings. It's all right here." He gestured at the computer screen.

Ellen blinked at him for a moment, then walked around. Seizing the laptop, she closed it and put it on the bedside table. "You can't diagnose a brain tumor from WebMD, Sam," she declared firmly. "You could just as easily diagnose him with menopause or bipolar disorder from those symptoms."

"Those don't address the balance issues," Sam protested.

"So he's a clumsy manic-depressive," Ellen retorted. "Sam, he's tired. He's had a rough time, hasn't he?" Sam grimaced and nodded. "Exhaustion can lead to those same symptoms. Being paranoid and seeing problems that aren't there won't help anything."

"Neither will burying my head in the sand," Sam replied.

"I'm not suggesting that you do that, I'm just suggesting that you not borrow trouble." She put her arm around his shoulders. "You know, you've had a rough time, too, Sam. You're no less exhausted than he is. Just breathe for a few minutes. The doctors will tell you what they've found when they've found it."

Unexpectedly, Sam leaned in against her and buried his face in her chest. She put her arms around him and gave him what comfort she could. She knew his brother had done his best for Sam, but some things only a mother could provide.

* * *

Dean was startled to find Ellen sitting with Sam when he got back from the lab. They were messing with Sam's laptop. "Hey, there, Ellen. I thought I told you to go home."

"I did," she said with a smile. "I came back." The glance she shot Sam told him that there was something going on with his brother.

He stood up and went over to the bed, hopping up on it. "Thank you, Linda. You're a peach."

"I'll be by later with your dinner."

"Looking forward to it," he said as she backed out with the chair. Then he turned to Sam and saw that his eyes were bloodshot and his skin was pale. "What's up, Sammy? Out with it."

Sam's gaze flicked up to Dean's face. "I'm freaking out, okay?"

"Why? It's not this whole doctors doing tests thing, is it? Because it hardly matters."

"What do you mean, it hardly matters?" Sam demanded.

"It's not like we're going to survive the Apocalypse. Win or lose, you and me are toast."

Sam blinked at him. "I find that weirdly reassuring. And that worries me."

Dean shrugged.

"Dean Winchester, don't talk like that," Ellen snapped.

"It's okay, Ellen, there's no reason to think you and Jo are in any danger."

"As if that was my only concern," she replied. "Let me get you tucked in." Ivy came in to check Dean's monitors and helped with the tucking.

Castiel walked into the room and crossed to the bed as Ellen stepped back. He bent over and Dean stared up at him, startled. Then Cas pressed his lips against Dean's in an awkward and entirely weird kiss. Drawing back, he said, "I am glad you are back."

Ivy left the room and Dean looked up at Cas with wide eyes. "What was that?" he hissed. He could tell that both Sam and Ellen were startled by the event as well.

"She did not believe that we are lovers," Castiel said in his normal tone, glancing towards where Ivy had gone. "As we are counterfeiting to be lovers, it seemed appropriate to cement the idea in her mind."

Dean hoped that his reaction hadn't made it clear that the kiss was an unusual event. "Okay, fine, whatever," he said. "So, anyway, if I don't freak out again before tomorrow – and I mean the real kind, not the kind Sammy's doing over there – we'll be on our way by noon."

Still a little wide-eyed, Ellen nodded. "In the meantime, now that Cas is here, I'm going to take Sam home and make him get some real sleep," she said. "Come on, big guy."

"I don't want to leave Dean," Sam grumbled, his mind still clearly so fixated on keeping Dean safe that the kiss had barely impinged on his thoughts.

"I will remain with him at all times," Castiel said, and Dean had to hope that he meant that in a less than literal sense. No way was he taking an angel into the bathroom with him. Castiel gave Sam a slight tilt of the head, and Sam nodded, looking reassured. Dean wanted to know what that was about, but he doubted either one would tell him.

"Take him home, Ellen. Put him to bed."

He watched Ellen mommy-handle Sam out of the room with a great deal of amusement, then looked up at Cas. "So, you still got that bad feeling?" Castiel nodded. "Well, I've got the feeling that someone's watching me all the time but in the apartment and when you're around." He blinked. "And while I was at the lab. Either that room is shielded or . . ." He narrowed his eyes at the angel. "Did you follow me? Did you go all ninja stealth mode and follow me?"

"I am not a Japanese assassin," Castiel said, notably not answering the question.

Dean glowered. "You did. You went all ninja stealth mode and Sam knows it." Castiel didn't respond and Dean sighed. "I get no respect."

"You are respected, Dean," Castiel said.

"Yeah, by who?"

"By your brother, and the Harvelles, among others."

Dean decided not to address the craziness of that notion. At that moment, Linda came in with a tray. Like all hospital food, it was less that fully appetizing, but Dean could eat just about anything. He consumed everything but the tea. Why hospitals always wanted to feed people tea was beyond him.

"You know, you don't actually have to stay," Dean said. "I'm probably reasonably safe in the hospital."

"You should equally have been safe in your own apartment," Castiel replied imperturbably.

"And at this point, if I actually convinced you to go away, I'd be wondering all night if you were hovering invisibly, so that wouldn't do any good anyway." He glanced around. "You know they'll probably freak out if you just stand there for hours."

"Why?"

"Because normal people need to sleep from time to time."

"I do not," Castiel said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, but we can't tell them your little secret," he said softly.

"You mean that I'm –"

"Yeah, that," Dean interjected hastily. The last thing they needed was for the hospital staff to see Castiel say with total sobriety that he was an angel of the Lord.

"If you believe you will be discharged before noon tomorrow, they will not worry so much," Castiel said. "I can go away when Sam returns in the morning if you are still concerned then."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, that'll work." He turned on the TV and searched for something worth watching. To his great surprise and pleasure, TNT was playing a marathon of Dr. Sexy. They certainly did know drama.

He sat back to enjoy himself.

* * *

Once Jo had come back, Ellen returned to the hospital, figuring that even angels might need respite from bedside watching. Besides, she was restless, and she'd napped when she'd gotten Sam home. She didn't know how John had stood those boys and their reckless ways. She shook her head as she made her way through quiet halls. Sure, she did. John hadn't been any different.

The night nurses nodded to her as she went straight for Dean's room. When she reached the door, she came to a stop. Dean had placed the bed completely flat, and he was asleep, sprawled on his stomach, clutching a pillow. Castiel stood at the foot of the bed, gazing down at him, and she had to figure that the nurses thought he was more than a little peculiar.

Before Castiel seemed to notice her, she felt a hand on her shoulder. A nurse peered in at Castiel and Dean, then drew her away from the door with a finger to her lips. "Can you convince Dean's friend to go home?" she said. "Dean's perfectly fine, but Cas surely needs to get some rest himself. He's been here practically nonstop since early this morning."

"I'll see what I can do," Ellen said. "Maybe he'll let me take over for a while."

"We don't technically allow visitors in the rooms after nine," the nurse said. Ellen blinked at her, startled. "Maybe you can take him home?"

"What did he say when you told him it was time to go?" Ellen asked, glancing at her watch. It was nearly half past one in the morning.

"I wasn't here, but the evening shift supervisor told us to let him be. I guess he's autistic?" It should have been a statement, but her tone made it a question.

Ellen nodded. "That's my understanding," she said. It made for a good explanation of his social ineptitude. "I don't actually know him all that well. Is he in the way?"

"No, and he's very polite if we ask him to move, but I know he's making some of the younger girls nervous, the way he stares at Dean."

Ellen suspected that this woman was made nervous as well. "My name is Ellen," she said.

"Annette," the nurse replied.

"I'll go sit with him and see if I can't get him to consider leaving, but I can tell you, he won't leave if someone from their circle doesn't stay with him."

"He's not in any danger," Annette said. "I don't understand it."

Ellen shrugged. "They're extremely close, and after the past week, I think Cas is a little paranoid, and, as you can see, he doesn't always handle his emotions in socially acceptable ways. I'll see what I can do, but if I get him to go, I'll have to stay."

"Either way," she said. Nodding, she went about her business.

Ellen returned to the door and Cas spoke without taking his eyes off Dean. "I am not leaving, Ellen. No matter what you or Annette say."

"I didn't figure you would," she replied softly, walking in and sitting down. "But I had to say something to her to calm her a bit. "He have any trouble getting to sleep?"

"No."

Ellen sank back in the chair and pulled a crossword puzzle book out of her bag. Evidently Castiel wasn't feeling chatty. The rest of the night passed in silence apart from the sound of her pencil scratching on the paper.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, just thought I'd mention that when I wrote this, I had never been in the hospital for an extended stay and didn't know that they tended to take blood at the bedside. Since then, about 5 years ago I did have a 3-day stay in the hospital, and got lots of blood drawn because they were trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I remember once having 11 vials drawn at once at about 3 in the morning. I called the nice folks who came and took intermittent blood samples my vampires for obvious reasons. Anyway, I didn't know any better when I wrote this, and Sam's freak out wouldn't have worked if Dean were in the room with him. I didn't want there to be a bigger reason for Dean being taken out of the room, and Sam wouldn't have had a frank, panicky conversation with Bobby with Dean asleep three feet away, so I left it.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reference a guy they saved in DC in this chapter. Do not look for it in the episodes, it's a reference to one of my own stories.

**Chapter 32**

Sam arrived at the hospital at nine, just in time to watch Dean fill out his exit paperwork. Castiel glanced at him and Sam nodded. Baton passed. Dean didn't even seem to notice when Cas left, though Sam was certain he did. They parted with Ellen at the parking lot, and Sam led Dean to the Impala.

His brother didn't argue for the keys, which sort of surprised Sam. Maybe Dean was going to be sensible about this, he thought with some relief.

About halfway home, he turned down the music that Dean had put up to deafening decibels when they'd started moving. "So, you won't be going to work tonight, right?"

"Oh, I'll be going," Dean said with a grin. "Got a call from Bill. George's voice is completely gone."

"It is?" Sam said, blinking. What did that mean? Dean surely couldn't . . .

"And since Ted only scheduled outside bands for Friday and Saturday, it's either canned music and they lose the income, or they find a substitute singer." Dean gave him a challenging look. "I agreed."

"Dean, are you nuts? You just got out of the hospital."

Dean shrugged. "Whatever, dude, I can sing. I can even wait tables, but I figured you'd be happier with me standing still."

Sam shook his head. "I'll have to call Bill back and tell him the situation," he muttered. "He'll understand if he knows you've been in the –"

"You do that and your shorts will be impregnated with itching powder from now till the end of time," Dean retorted. "I can sing a few songs. I'm not hiding at the apartment. I feel fine, I rested all day yesterday."

"Dean –"

"I'm doing it, Sammy, and that's final."

Sam figured he could get Ellen or Cas to help him convince Dean to think rationally. Ellen beat them home by seconds, so they all went up together. Dean went immediately to take a shower. Sam started to follow him, but Dean held up a hand. "Don't even think about it, Sammy. I'm fine, I don't need a babysitter to keep from drowning."

Sam sighed, and once Dean had disappeared inside, he looked at his watch so he'd know how long Dean had been in there. If it took too long, whether Dean liked it or not, he was going in. Ellen had headed straight into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of the coffee he'd left going. Sam walked in and poured himself a cup. "So, Ellen, you got any ideas about how to get Dean to take it easy?"

She snorted. "To hear him talk, singing _is_ taking it easy," she said. "You aren't going to be able to convince him. Just be glad he's not insisting on waiting tables."

Sam grimaced. "Did he eat breakfast at the hospital?"

"Yes, but I'm sure he could eat more," Ellen said.

Sam set to work making hot ham and cheese sandwiches with tomatoes. Dean emerged from the bathroom in just under fifteen minutes, and he looked no more than normally clean. "One plus to this whole joining the band thing is that I can wear something a little more normal to work in," Dean remarked, and Sam reflected that it was just his luck to get stuck wearing a shirt that was open to his navel while Dean wore a t-shirt or something, when the whole stupid cover was Dean's idea in the first place.

"Is there anything I can say to convince you –"

Dean gave him a warning look. "No."

Sam handed him a plate, and Dean grinned, losing the grim look immediately. "Sam, you're the best."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he gave up trying to convince Dean not to work. He'd either figure out he wasn't really up to it, or he'd be fine. He got ready and came out of the bathroom to find Dean staring at his bare toes. "What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"I lost my boots," Dean said in a pathetic voice.

Sam grinned at him. "What kind of brother do you think I am?" he asked, walking over and picking up a Wal-Mart bag. "I made a little stop on my way in to the hospital."

Dean took the bag and opened it. "Dude, you are one totally awesome brother," he said, pulling out the shoe box. "These are cool!"

Sam shrugged. "I got the pair that screamed 'Dean' in my ear."

"Talking shoes, huh? That's a new one." He walked over to the dining room and sat down in one of the chairs to put the shoes on.

Sam gazed for a long moment at Dean, trying to figure out what was wrong with the picture. "Dean, is that one of my shirts?"

Dean glanced at the shirt, and shrugged. "Yeah, you haven't worn it in like six or seven months, at least."

"I thought I got rid of it."

"Too small?" Dean asked. He was one to talk. It fit him like a second skin.

"Yeah. Why are you wearing it?"

"I'm not wearing the uniform, Bill asked me not to, so I needed something to make me look gay. My normal gear doesn't make me –"

"Are you saying my clothes are gay?"

"I did not actually say that," Dean replied.

"But you mean it," Sam retorted.

Dean shrugged, a wicked grin curving his lips. "You can't prove that. Anyway, I think it's just right. Now I need to go put some eyeliner on. Excuse me."

Sam shook his head as his brother strode across to the bathroom. Eyeliner. Next thing would be mascara, and then lipstick? Sam shook his head and pulled on his own shoes.

He was pulling on his jacket when he heard the bathroom door open again so he flipped his collar up and started zipping as he turned around. What he saw made his jaw drop. Dean was wearing eyeliner. Or should that be 'guyliner'? He was also wearing some kind of glossy lip stuff, and Sam swore there was glitter on parts of his skin. He looked positively flaming gay. Not just his clothes but his whole demeanor. It was downright disorienting coming from a man who had never been anything other than as butch as butch got.

"What?" Dean demanded when Sam just stared at him for several moments. "Do I have something stuck in my teeth?"

"You're wearing glitter," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean replied with a grin. "Looks good, doesn't it? I've been reading the magazines some of the guys leave around the break room, but I haven't really had a chance to try some of the stuff out yet."

"What, Cosmo for gay guys?"

Dean nodded. "Basically. But it's not just gay guys who wear it." Sam raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, apparently there's a kind of guy called 'metro' that I didn't even know existed, and they wear it."

"Metrosexual?" Sam clarified, and Dean nodded. "Guys who like their clothes a little too much but who are still straight."

"Like that guy Tony," Dean said, and Sam knit his brows, not sure which of the many Tonys they'd know over the years he might mean. "You know, the guy whose ass we saved in DC?"

Comprehension dawned. "Right, him. Yeah, he was more than a little metro, but I doubt he'd wear glitter."

Dean tilted his head. "He might clubbing," he said. He shrugged and grabbed his coat. "You ready?"

"Sure."

They drove to the club where Dean's new look was very well received. Sam found it weird to listen to a bunch of guys tell his brother how very hot he was. He went through into the club and started getting things ready for the night while the band warmed up. Dean came out and started talking to them, and Sam prepared himself for his brother to be at his most manic.

He made up the mixes and put them in the fridge. When he was done with that and looked up, Dean was standing on the stage, discussing something earnestly with Bill and the other band members. Sam wondered what on earth that could be, but he supposed they'd have to make some determinations about the list of songs that were to be played over the course of the evening.

The doors opened on the dot at nine, and Dean started out with a few fairly ordinary songs. "Heat of the Moment" . . . again. "Can't Fight This Feeling." Sam had to laugh, and he wished that Jo had been present. Dean definitely didn't sing from the hair. "Funky Town." "Hot Blooded." Led Zeppelin's version of "Travelin' Riverside Blues." "Proud Mary." Then they took a break.

People seemed to be enjoying Dean's singing, and Sam had to admit that his brother did sound good. He glanced up during the break and saw Dean talking to Cas. Sam wondered how Cas had gotten in and if he was going to be asked to leave this time. He didn't have the right look for the place, but he was inside, regardless. Dean seemed to be mildly irritated. No one who hadn't spent years watching him would have recognized that tilt of Dean's head, fortunately, because he wasn't sure how Dean would react to Cas being ejected tonight.

"Is he being a problem?" Martin asked, glancing at Dean and Cas when Sam turned to him with eyebrows raised in enquiry.

"No," Sam said. "He's fine."

Martin placed his orders and Sam fixed them for him, but both of them kept an eye on Dean and Cas. Dean returned to the stage and walked straight up to Bill and spoke. The guitarist's eyes went wide, but he shrugged, turned to the other band members and said something. Dean picked up the microphone and Bill counted with his fingers, sketching a beat that was taken up by the keyboardist. It wasn't Dean's usual kind of stuff, though the song sounded faintly familiar to Sam. When Dean started to sing, Sam stared at him for a moment.

_Head underwater_   
_And they tell me_   
_To breathe easy for a while._   
_Breathing gets harder . . ._

He was singing "Love Song" by Sara Bareilles? Then Sam noticed how firmly Dean was staring at Cas. He followed his brother's gaze to the angel as the music shifted into drums and guitar.

_It's too soon to see_   
_If I'm happy in your hands._   
_I'm unusually hard to hold onto._

Cas's eyes had narrowed, and he looked more than a little perturbed. Abruptly, Sam realized that this was a continuation of their conversation. Dean didn't look playful so much as he looked determined and intent.

_No easy way to say this,_   
_You mean well,_   
_But you make this hard on me_

Then he moved into the chorus, and Sam had to take the refusal to write a love song for the unnamed target of the words as a reference to Dean's refusal to . . . what? Say yes to Michael? Leave Salt Lake? Be God's good little soldier? Or something else that Cas has asked of him that neither one had mentioned to Sam? There was so much that went on between the two of them that Sam knew nothing about.

The chorus ended and Dean looked away for a second, but then he turned an even more intense look on Cas. Sam had to turn away to fix some drinks, but he heard the words, and the emotional content practically vibrated the room.

_I learned the hard way_   
_That they all say_   
_Things you want to hear._

Ouch. Sam knew how thoroughly misled Dean felt after all the machinations the angels – including Cas – had put him through. Yes, Cas had come up trumps in the end, but that was after some pretty crappy things had happened. He glanced around. No one else seemed to be getting quite what he was from the song, but then no one else knew the true relationship between the two who were involved.

_My heavy heart sinks deep down under_   
_You and your twisted words._   
_Your help just hurts._   
_You are not what I thought you were._

Sam looked over at Cas between drinks and saw how taken aback he was by Dean's words and the emotions behind them. The words were harsher than the emotions, but they were both harsh enough. What the hell had they been arguing about before this?

_Convince me to please you._   
_Make me think I need this, too._   
_I'm trying to let you hear me as I am._

That was one the angels didn't seem to be able to get. Dean was Dean. Yeah, Dad had successfully ordered him around, but that was Dad. No one else was ever going to manage it in quite the same way, and Dean felt pretty burned by Dad, too, these days. He wasn't ever going to follow anyone with unquestioning obedience again. At least, Sam hoped he wasn't.

_Promise me that you'll leave the light on_   
_To help me see_   
_With daylight, my guide, gone,_   
_' Cause I believe there's a way you can love me_   
_Because I say_   
_I'm not going to write you a love song_   
_' Cause you asked for it . . ._

Cas's expression lightened at this, and Sam wondered what he was taking from it. Hope, certainly, but why? What did he think Dean was saying? Of course, Cas was the angel who seemed to believe that Dean could provide help to end the Apocalypse without surrendering himself wholly to Michael. Sam shook his head. He didn't understand all the subtext here, that was clear, and he wasn't likely to be given enough information by either party to decode it all.

The chorus repeated a couple times, and then came the final stanza, and the sincerity with which Dean sang it was almost breathtaking.

_If your heart is nowhere in it_   
_I don't want it for a minute_   
_Babe, I'll walk the seven seas_   
_When I believe that there's a reason_   
_To write you a love song today._

So, what exactly was he promising Cas he would do? Sam closed his eyes briefly before starting on a trio of margaritas. If he asked Dean about this, he'd make fun of him for being too emo.

The song over, the intense electricity passing between Dean and Cas lessened a bit, and Dean swung into "Only the Good Die Young." It was a complete change of mood, and Sam felt his shoulders relax a bit. It was like . . . something he'd never experienced. He wondered if this was how Dean had felt when Sam and Dad had argued.

Dean gave Cas a wry sort of grin partway through the song, and the angel relaxed a little, too. Then he made his way through the crush over to the bar. "Sam, I believe I should have a drink so that I do not stand out."

Sam blinked at him, but he shrugged. "What would you like?"

"I do not know. I have never had much alcohol before."

Sam leaned closer, glancing around to make sure no one was paying them any attention. "What have you had?" he asked.

"Beer, I believe," he said.

"I can get you that, if you want," Sam replied.

"I didn't like the taste of it very much," Castiel said. He looked at the man to his left. "I will have whatever he's having," he said.

"A Long Island iced tea?" Sam asked, and Castiel nodded. Sam started mixing, only realizing partway through that he would have to pay for it himself. He delivered the drink to Cas and the angel looked at him for a moment, his brows knit in a puzzled expression. "What, Cas?" he asked.

"What purpose is served by your throwing the bottles into the air and catching them as you mix the beverages?"

"It's a show," Sam said. "To entertain people." He leaned closer again. "Besides, I'm not sure I could mix drinks any other way. It's how I learned."

Cas lifted the drink to his lips and drank it down in a series of gulps. The men on either side of him stared in shock, and Sam leaned as close as he physically could over the bar. "Cas, you can't down it like that, you have to nurse it."

"It has a pleasant taste," Cas said.

"I'm glad you liked it," Sam retorted in an undertone. "But you can't drink it like that. It will make you stand out more than anything else would."

"I will do better. Give me another one."

Sam mixed him a second drink and Cas did do better with that one. Dean walked up during the band's next break and looked with dismay at Cas's drink. "Long Island iced tea?" he exclaimed. "Sam, what do you think you're doing, giving him a girl drink?"

"He asked for it," Sam said.

"By name?"

"No, he pointed," Sam retorted. "And it's not a girl drink, Dean, it's just a drink."

"Get him a beer, Sammy," Dean said. "Are you trying to turn him into a pansy?"

"There's nothing wrong with drinking a Long Island iced tea, Dean."

"I do not want my angel becoming a girl drink drunk. Get him a beer." He turned to Cas. "Now, what are you doing here, anyway? You're getting odd looks from the staff, so I'm guessing you didn't come in through the front door this time either."

"I am concerned about your safety, Dean."

"I'm in a public place, on a stage, for crying out loud," Dean exclaimed. "Nothing's coming after me here, or if they are, it won't matter where I am."

"That's not funny, Dean," Sam protested. "Doesn't it mean anything to you that we both have this sense that something's wrong?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "So it's contagious, whatever. Look, Sammy, Bill says I need to have hot tea with lemon and honey to keep my voice limber between sets, as ridiculous as that sounds."

"Talk about girl drinks," Sam muttered.

"Can you set it up for me for the next break, Sammy, or do I have to do it myself?"

"I got it, Dean."

"Good." Dean glared at both of them and stomped back over to the stage. He stood talking to the guys for a few minutes, then he picked up the microphone again. Sam was fixing a series of daiquiris when the music started, a guitar twanging midway between rock and country. He looked up in surprise as he realized what the song was.

_I see a bad moon a'rising._   
_I see trouble on the way._   
_I see earthquakes and lightning._   
_I see bad times today._

He was looking at Sam and Cas as he sang, his eyes sardonic and irritable. He grinned at them just before he started the chorus.

_Don't go around tonight._   
_Well, it's bound to take your life._   
_There's a bad moon on the rise._

After that, he made his attention more general, and Sam exchanged a grim look with Cas. "What was all that about before?" he asked.

"I urged him to leave Salt Lake, and he grew irritated with me." Cas pursed his lips, an expression that, on the angel, conveyed ultimate distress. "We have more important matters to attend to."

"You tried giving him that as a reason to go?" Sam asked, and Cas nodded. "Dude, never do that. That's just nuts."

"But it is true."

"It doesn't matter."

He was called back over to the serving area to fix some more drinks, and Cas moved away from the bar, carrying his Long Island iced tea with him. Dean seemed to be on a roll. He moved into "Long Black Train," "Carry On Wayward Son" and then "Wheel in the Sky." Sam couldn't immediately identify the next song when it started. He was in the middle of a large order, spinning and flipping and making several different drinks at once when the words started, and he froze solid.

_It's all the same, only the names will change_   
_Every day it seems we're wasting away_   
_Another place where the faces are so cold_   
_I'd drive all night just to get back home._

He felt liquid hit his shoulder just before he heard a crash behind him. His body felt locked in place. He wasn't . . . he couldn't . . .

_I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride._   
_I'm wanted, dead or alive._   
_Wanted, dead or alive._

A hand on his shoulder made him jump out of his skin and whirl around. Ted was standing there. "What's wrong, Sam?"

Sam shook his head, unable to speak. He just pushed past his boss and hurried through the club to the break room, then out into the alley where the music wouldn't penetrate. There he buried his head in his hands and tried to banish the vivid memories that had overtaken him of that spring night in 2008 when Dean had been torn apart by hellhounds. Dean had played that song as loud as the Impala's speakers would go and insisted on singing it at the top of his lungs, and Sam had joined in. It was the last time they'd had where things had been okay between them.

He hadn't even been able to listen to that song on the radio or on cassette while Dean was dead, not without getting blindly, desperately angry – and drunk almost immediately thereafter. Since Dean came back . . . his reaction to that particular song hadn't really changed. But to hear Dean singing it . . . Sam gulped. It was immeasurably worse.


	33. Chapter 33

The door opened and Jes came out. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes wide.

Sam shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Music wafted out of the open door with Dean singing about a loaded six-string. "Could you please close the door?" Sam said, and his voice sounded more ragged than he'd expected.

"Are you crying?" Jes asked, coming out and closing the door behind him.

"Of course not," Sam growled, scrubbing at his face. "I'll be back in a few minutes. I just . . . I had to get away."

"That was kind of obvious," Jes replied. "You nearly bowled me over on your way out. What happened?"

Sam shrugged. His eyes were burning, and no matter how hard he denied it, as close as Jes was, the other man couldn't possibly miss the fact that Sam was, in fact, crying.

"Come on, that was a hell of a reaction. I know Ted's going to want an explanation, and if you tell me, I might be able to tell him in a way that will get you off the hook."

Sam closed his eyes. "You know that song Dean's singing?"

"Yeah?"

"It has . . . bad associations for me."

"And Dean doesn't know that?"

Sam snorted. "It probably never even occurred to him," he said with a grimace, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. "It was playing when we had a really spectacular car wreck," Sam said, and his voice shook. He was going to collapse two events into one for this explanation, and the emotions that went with each were mingling unpleasantly. "We were t-boned by a semi."

"In what?" Jes asked, incredulously.

"The Impala, actually," Sam said. "It was just about destroyed. Dean rebuilt it from the ground up, practically."

"That must have killed him," Jes said.

Sam shuddered. "Almost."

Jes grimaced. "Sorry, I didn't think. Was he badly hurt?"

"He was in a coma," Sam said. "They told me he wouldn't wake up." He sighed. "Our Dad died."

"Who was driving?"

Sam bit his lip. "I was."

"Ouch," Jes said.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "It was . . . not fun." He shook his head. "I'll be all right, I just . . . I wasn't prepared for that, and it hit a little harder than I would have expected."

"Look, I'll go talk to Ted, but you'd better come inside. It's close to zero out here, and I'm sure that song is done by now."

Sam allowed Jes to guide him back inside, and he sat down in the break room. Jes opened his own locker and pulled out his coat, draping it over Sam's shoulders. "You just sit for a bit. Come back when you're ready."

Sam nodded, feeling like a complete idiot. He stayed there for maybe ten minutes, pulling himself together, then he went back out to get back to work. Jes had talked Ted around, so he didn't even seem mad when Sam took over from him.

* * *

Dean went to the bar after the set, and Sam handed him a steaming mug. He smiled. "Thanks, Sammy. You're the best."

Sam shrugged and went back to work. Dean watched him for a minute and wondered what was wrong. He looked a little peaked. Maybe the kid was working himself too hard. He hadn't been over the swine flu for more than a couple of weeks. Dean would have to talk to him later about that. He wandered across the bar towards Cas, but before he got there, Jes caught his arm. "Can we talk for a minute?" he murmured.

"Sure," Dean said. He followed Jes back to the break room where there were three guys hanging out. Jes looked around at them, and they all found excuses to leave immediately. "Dude, what's up?" Dean asked after they were all gone.

"You have got to not sing that song when Sam's around," Jes said.

Dean blinked at him. "What song?"

"That Bon Jovi one you did, 'Dead or Alive.'"

"Why not?" Dean asked.

"He completely flipped out," Jes said, and Dean contemplated how crappy Sam had looked when he'd collected his tea. "He dropped a nearly full bottle of vodka – or I suppose I should say he didn't catch it after he'd thrown it up in the air." Dean felt his eyebrows climbing. What the hell did Sam have against that song? "Then he blundered out back into the alley and stood there for a while, talking to me, but he didn't grab his coat or anything."

"Damn it!" Dean growled. "He can't do shit like that. He just got over the flu."

"I think that was the last thing on his mind."

"But why would he have a problem with that song?"

"He said it was playing when you guys had some kind of a car wreck," Jes said, and Dean cast his mind back. "A semi t-boned you?"

"I could swear that was 'Bad Moon Rising,'" Dean said. His memories of that crash were kind of spotty because of how injured he'd been to start with.

Jes raised his eyebrows. "You mean the one you sang first in that set?" Dean could tell that Jes didn't view this as a good sign. "Look, whatever, man, just don't sing it. He was out here shaking, and it wasn't the cold."

Dean nodded. "Sure, I guess." He shook his head. "I didn't have any idea. I mean, I actually sang it to get Cas's goat, because he's been all paranoid since that guy tried to stab me." He shrugged. "Sam always was a little emo."

"Emo!" Jes exclaimed. "He said your father died in that crash, and that you were in a coma!"

"Well, Dad died as a result of the crash," Dean said, only stretching the truth a little. "And my coma only lasted like three days."

"Maybe so, but they told him you weren't coming back, and he was the driver. Freaking out about that isn't emo, it's normal."

"Jes!" Dean said in protest, and Jes grimaced. "Look, it was almost four years ago, and he never told me the song bugged him." In fact, now that he thought about it, he remembered singing that song with Sam on their way to . . . confront Lilith. Oh. But . . . . he shook his head. "Anyway, I think they're expecting me back on stage soon."

The rest of the evening passed off without a hitch, and Dean kept to the lighter side of rock, mostly. A few of his preferences crept in. For one thing, there was only so much of the lighter side that he knew well enough to sing. He was a dark side kind of guy, after all. If they wanted Mariah Carey or Pink, they could ask Sammy to sing. Or if they wanted to clear the bar of patrons quickly.

After the patrons and most the waiters were gone, he moved the car to right outside the back door and went back inside to wait for Sammy. He was really dragging by the time he finished with the clean up, and Ted gave Dean an odd look but he didn't say anything.

Sam didn't say anything when they got into the car, and after a minute, Dean cleared his throat. "Dude, what was the song playing when we had the accident with the semi?"

"'Bad Moon Rising,'" Sam said in a monotone.

"See, now that's what I thought," Dean replied. "So, why'd you tell Jes it was 'Dead or Alive'?"

Sam stirred, then he turned and looked at him. "Because I couldn't exactly tell him it was the song you bullied me into singing with you the night you were torn apart and dragged to Hell by hellhounds." Sam gave him a tight, mirthless grin. "Go figure."

Dean grimaced. "Is that what it's from? I mean, that occurred to me, but . . . I didn't think it made sense."

"No?" Sam exclaimed. "I haven't been able to listen to that song since you died." Dean blinked at the road, startled by this intelligence. "Hearing you sing it . . . I froze, Dean. I literally froze. A bottle crashed to the ground behind me. I'm not even sure what it was, I just know Ted is very kindly not docking my wages for the amount it cost."

Dean shook his head. "But, dude, it's not like it was playing when I died or anything like that. What makes it so . . . I mean . . ."

"It was the last time everything was okay," Sam said, shrugging. "When I still had hope of saving you, before the world crashed around my ears."

"Surely that makes it a good memory," Dean pointed out.

"We were whistling past the graveyard, Dean," Sam replied, his voice distorted with emotion. "It was a cheat, because you were driving yourself to your death." He gulped. "And . . . once Bobby and I had gotten you back to the car so we could . . . to take you . . . you know." Dean nodded, his brows knit. "When I started the car, that song started up again. Maybe an hour earlier, we'd been singing it, and then you were just so much dead meat on the back seat."

Dean blinked. "The back seat?" he exclaimed, glancing around. "You put my bloody carcass on the back seat?"

Sam let out a bark of something, it could have been laughter, it could have been a sob. Dean didn't examine it too closely. "Mr. Fremont provided us with a camping tarp to wrap you up in," he said after a moment. "Trust you to worry more about your back seat than how freaked out I was to be driving my dead and Hell bound brother to his grave."

Dean grimaced. "It's not that, Sammy, I just don't know . . . what I am I supposed to say to that?"

"Nothing. You asked why I freaked out about that song," Sam said. Dean pulled up and parked outside the apartment. "That's why, okay?" Without waiting for an answer to what was essentially a rhetorical question, Sam got out of the car and slammed the door. Dean took a little more time about getting out of the car, making sure both doors were locked and that everything that was visible was at least moderately kosher.

He got out and looked around. He had that feeling that he was being watched again, and it gave him the willies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a couple of questions, so here's a list of the songs in the previous chapter, they are "Love Song" by Sarah Bareilles, "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival and "Wanted Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi. The latter two were featured in episodes. "Bad Moon" was in both the final episode of Season 1 and the first episode of Season 2. "Dead or Alive" turned up in the last episode of Season 3.


	34. Chapter 34

Felix watched Dean walk up the stairs with a great deal of interest. Dean's singing was an unexpected bonus. He had in the past enjoyed the company of troubadours and musicians, but it had been some years since his last singer. Each new lover reminded him of things he'd forgotten, just as each brought with him a slice of his own time, keeping Felix in the here and now. Quite a number of his former colleagues had foolishly fallen out of tune with the times, and it had often proven fatal.

Dean opened the door to his apartment, stepped inside and closed it behind him. Once the latch clicked shut, the spell on the walls became complete again and blocked Felix's view. He grimaced and looked up from his bowl, his focus broadening to include the whole of his workroom. One day soon, no one would shut him away from that enchanting young man, but he could be patient.

He arose and turned around. The spell summoning spirits had not yet matured, as evidenced by the green vapor still clouding the glass the spirits would appear in. He found Morgan staring at the glass in curiosity and felt a brief flash of irritation, both that he had been sufficiently focused as to not notice the other man's entry into the room, and that Morgan had come into his workroom at all.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice acid.

Morgan jumped and turned around, but he did not seem as cowed as he should have been by Felix's tone. "I have to be gone most of tomorrow," he said. "I thought I had better find out if there was anything you needed before I hit the sack, since I'll likely be gone when you haul yourself out of bed tomorrow."

Felix's brow knit. "You seem to have a great many outside obligations of late. What is the issue?"

Morgan shrugged. "You said you didn't want to hear about my problems, so –"

"When they affect your ability to serve me, I do," Felix replied.

"Look, Leo," Morgan said irritably. "I don't 'serve' you, we have a partnership. And if –"

Felix had grown weary of Morgan's posturing and apparent belief that they were somehow equal. He raised a hand, summoning power to throw Morgan against the wall. The paintings that hung on that wall shook with the impact, and then Morgan slid down to the floor. Felix strode over and seized his servant by the neck, lifting him and holding him against the wall. Morgan struggled angrily, but Felix tapped him on the forehead. Morgan went still, whimpering slightly. It had been a while since Felix had elected to punish his servant, and clearly that had been a mistake.

"You serve me for as long as I choose to have you serve me," Felix said icily. "Now, what is this matter that you must deal with?" He tapped Morgan on the forehead again, releasing his vocal cords.

"I have to go to court," Morgan said, his voice shaking slightly. "You recall that I was arrested some days back?"

"Yes," Felix snapped. "I told you to deal with the problem and make sure it didn't affect me in any way."

"I'm doing that," Morgan replied, some of his rebellion showing in his eyes. Felix tightened his grip slightly, and Morgan's eyes widened. "I'll take care of it," he said.

"Remember, Morgan. You made certain promises when you came to me. There are consequences if those promises aren't kept. Now, deal with your problem as swiftly as you may. Is there a chance that you'll be incarcerated?"

"No," Morgan said.

"Are you lying to me?" Felix asked.

"It's not likely," Morgan amended. "But I will do my best to avoid it."

Felix nodded once, sharply, and released his servant. "Go, get to bed." He glanced over at the spirit glass and saw that the vapor had dissipated. "And go silently," he added.

He sensed simmering anger from Morgan, but so long as the man didn't express it, he would tolerate it. For now.

He crossed the boundaries of the spell with care and stood before the mirror, speaking the words that should call the first of the spirits to him.

Into the glass they came, two little girls, one with long blond ringlets, one with long straight hair of darker hue. This seemed an unusual beginning. This spell didn't generally call multiple spirits, but these two seemed almost to be a unit. As if he couldn't have gotten one without the other. They held hands and gazed at him, mischief brimming in their eyes. Their garments were of a previous era, he couldn't be sure which.

He somehow hadn't expected children. "What do you know of Dean Winchester?" he asked. The girls looked at each other, then shook their heads. "Speak."

"We don't know any Dean," said the blond child scornfully. Her eyes narrowed. "Do you want to play?" she asked.

"Maggie!" the other girl hissed. "You know we're not supposed to talk to strangers."

"It's okay now, Rosie," Maggie said confidentially, turning to the younger child. "He can't do anything to us." She turned insolently back to him, her whole stance a challenge. "Do you want to play?" she asked again.

"Another time, perhaps," he said. Then he swept his finger along the base of the mirror to send them home and bring up the next spirit his summoning had caught. It was remarkably like changing pages on an iPod, and he shook his head in wonder. Those were such amazing devices, yet no magic involved at all.

He looked back at the mirror and saw a man in a tan uniform – some kind of law enforcement. If Felix had to guess, he'd say the man had drowned given the way water streamed off him in rivulets. His expression was hangdog, and he appeared to be wringing his hands. "What do you know of Dean Winchester?" Felix asked.

"Don't know that name," the man said. "There was a man named Dean, but that wasn't his last name."

"What do you know of him?"

"He's a liar and a no good drifter, but he saved the lives of my daughter and grandson."

Felix waited. "Is that all?" he asked after a moment.

"What do you expect? He wasn't in town more than a few days."

Felix huffed and sent him on. Very mouthy for a dead man. The next spirit stared at him blankly. He had dark hair and very pale skin, and a strangely hungry look to his eyes. "Who are you?" the spirit asked.

"What do you know of Dean Winchester?" Felix responded.

The spirit blinked, and then he smiled, and the expression was disturbing. "His blood tasted sweet, with just the right hint of salt," he said thoughtfully.

"His blood?" Felix repeated, appalled but curious.

The spirit nodded. "I'm glad I didn't eat him, though. His brother seemed very distressed by the notion."

"You're a cannibal?" Felix asked, eyes wide.

"I'm a rugaru, whatever that is," the spirit replied. "That's what they said, anyway." The spirit touched his own face. "I seem normal now. Where am I?"

"Dead," Felix said.

"Oh." He seemed oddly accepting, and Felix decided that he wouldn't get anything useful out of him and swept on.

A black man was next, and he seemed more alert than any but the blond child had been. He also seemed to see a great deal more of the room beyond the mirror than he should. Before Felix could even ask his question, the spirit spoke. "Witch!" he growled contemptuously, and that was when Felix saw that he wasn't precisely a man. There were far too many teeth in his mouth.

"I didn't know vampires could become spirits," he said.

"I didn't either," the man replied. "Life's just full of surprises." He glowered at Felix. "What do you want, witch?"

"What do you know of Dean Winchester?" Felix asked.

The man shrugged, his eyes narrow pits of hate. "That he's going to kill you sooner or later. My bet is on sooner." He tilted his head. "Has he still got little Sammy with him?"

"Little?" Felix repeated. This spirit was far too active, asking questions, identifying Felix, but the juxtaposition of the adjective _little_ with Sam Winchester was too outrageous to let go by.

The spirit laughed dryly. "Then he's still there." He shook his head, and his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

"Tell me what you know of Dean Winchester," Felix demanded.

"You should know better than to tangle with a hunter, witch. You can take one of us down, but we just keep coming."

"You're a vampire," Felix exclaimed, startled by the spirit's use of the word _we_ in that context.

The spirit shook his head. "I'm a hunter." Felix raised his eyebrows at the contradiction and the spirit spread his hands with a shrug. "Shit happens." Figuring this, too, was a lost cause for information, Felix reached towards the mirror to send him on, but the hunter/vampire held up a hand, forestalling him. "Wait, has the Apocalypse started yet?"

Felix blinked at him. "Do you mean that literally?"

"Ain't nothing more literal than hellfire, man," the spirit said with a grin that showed off more teeth than anyone needed. "Has it started?"

Felix shrugged. This wasn't meant to be a question and answer session for the spirit. "I need to know details about Dean Winchester's life."

"I was always more interested in Sammy," the spirit replied. He shrugged. "You're not going to answer my question, are you?"

"You are here to answer, not to –" Before Felix could finish, the spirit murmured a Latin incantation to dispel. It had no power over the summoning as a whole, but the spirit vanished, leaving the mirror empty. Felix gaped for a moment, then swept his hand across the mirror again, and he found himself facing a vague-looking young man. Some form of drug, Felix would guess, perhaps it was how he had died. It mattered little. "What do you know of Dean Winchester?" he asked.

The spirit ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. "Dean rocks, man," he said. He looked around. "Dude, where am I?"

"What do you mean by saying that he rocks?"

"He's cool. He drives a bitchin' car, and he listens to awesome music, and –" He shrugged. "His brother's great, too. Do you know Sam?"

"I've seen him."

"He's psychic," the young man said. "But then, so am I."

"You're psychic?"

"Yeah, some demon messed with a whole bunch of us, but I think Sam's the only one who's not dead."

"What?" Felix stared at him.

"Hey, I'm Andy, by the way. What's your name?"

"Felix."

"Like _The Odd Couple_?"

"No, like _the Cat_ ," Felix replied

Andy blinked at him. "I don't get it."

"Dean gave me the name," Felix said, hoping it would increase the spirit's comfort with him.

"Cool."

"He's a cartoon."

"Dean's not a cartoon, guy. You're confused."

"No, the cat. _Felix the Cat_ is a cartoon."

"Oh, that makes a lot more sense."

"Yes," Felix said. "All right, what do you know about Dean besides that he's cool?"

Andy tilted his head. "Tell me, why do you want to know?"

Felix had every intention of brushing the question off, but his mouth opened and words came pouring out. "I wish to enslave him as my lover and servant." He blinked.

"Euw," Andy said, an expression of distaste marring his young face. Then his eyes grew peculiarly intent. "Number one, stop trying to find stuff out about Dean." Felix stared at the young man, startled by his effrontery. "Number two, leave Dean alone. Actually just forget about Dean. Number three, send me back to wherever you got me from."

Felix leaned forward as if compelled and shut down the spell. He rose to his feet and went to bed.


	35. Chapter 35

Dean awoke to the sound of grunts and moans, and he rolled over to stare at Sam. The noises he was making weren't quite right for a happy dream, so he poked him hard on the shoulder. Sam sat up sharply and looked around urgently. Dean gazed up at him. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Dean!" Sam's eyes were wide as he looked at Dean. "Dean. You're okay."

"Mostly," Dean said, giving him a dubious look. "Bad dream?"

"A doozy," Sam replied. He flopped back down on the bed.

"Clowns or midgets?"

Sam thumped his shoulder into Dean. It hurt more than Dean would have expected, but he kept the reaction inside. "Neither, I don't think," Sam growled. "I don't remember most of it, though."

"What do you remember?"

"Well, you were in some kind of trouble, duh," he said, and Dean rolled his eyes. "And . . . I think Andy was in it."

"Andy who?" Dean asked.

"Andy," Sam repeated with emphasis.

Dean blinked and rolled up on his elbow to stare at his brother. "You mean 'use the force, Luke' Andy?"

"That's the one."

"Dude, that's random," Dean said, relaxing onto his back again. "I haven't even thought of him in years."

Sam grimaced. "It's been a while for me, too," he said. He didn't specify how long, but Dean figured his brother had more reason to think about Andy than he did. They had a lot in common, but Andy was the one of Azazel's special children who would never have gone dark side, no matter what the demon had promised him.

"He was one cool guy," Dean said thoughtfully. "Even if he did steal my car."

"Yeah." Sam sounded pensive.

"What's wrong, Sasquatch?"

"I don't know. It was a weird dream."

"As long as there's no time loop involved, I'm not worried about it." He rolled over onto his stomach and grabbed at the pillow. "Go back to sleep, Sammy."

Sam didn't make any more noise, and Dean was tired enough that he drifted off quickly.

* * *

Felix woke up at just past nine on Thursday and checked in on the room he allowed Morgan to keep here. Things were neat and he hadn't left any of his trophies out on display. That was a practice that Felix did not understand. Taking and keeping the possessions of those he killed struck him as foolish and pointless. The police kept notes on such things, and what did a key chain or a bracelet do for Morgan anyway? It wasn't as if there was a relationship to commemorate.

Morgan was out dealing with his court appearance, and Felix hoped it would teach him a lesson. Sooner or later, he was going to have to give some thought to a replacement for Morgan. He was growing thoroughly tiresome.

After a luxurious shower, Felix dressed himself meticulously and headed downtown. He'd been neglecting business of late, though why he could not fathom. He also hadn't selected a Mr. November, but that could wait for the evening. How had the month slipped so far away from him?

He walked into the offices at Pritchard & Stowe, and Lizzie looked up with a smile. "Didn't think we were expecting you in this week, Mr. Haight, but it's good to see you."

"How is everything?" he asked.

"Glum," she said with a shrug. "Why people don't take your advice, I'll never know."

"I take it your portfolio remains healthy?" She nodded with a twinkle. "Any messages?"

"I've put them all on your desk," she replied. "And a box from Ireland."

"Thank you, Liz, I've been waiting for that," he said. He walked on past the reception desk into a sea of cubicles. Dozens of men and a few women giving out advice on the buying of stock to inexperienced idiots on the phones. He nodded at a few greetings from the boys who wanted to advance by making friends and kept going. His office was down the hall from cubicle hell.

He scanned through his messages for anything important, then pulled out a pen knife to open the box. Folding back rustling tissue paper, he pulled out a wool coat. It was dark blue with heathery inclusions, and he could tell just by touching it that it was exactly what he had asked for. Virgin wool. He'd be able to imbue this coat with the spells to ward off chill and wet, and to deter unwanted attention.

After hanging it on his coat rack, he sat down and got to work. His co-workers didn't understand how he got the results he did, but after watching history unfold for centuries, he had developed the ability to pick up on trends that other people – less experienced people – couldn't see. Furthermore, he was mature enough not to always go for the fast, risky payout. That was why Lizzie's investments were doing so well. She was content with healthy in this down market. The boys who were losing their shirts were the ones chasing after rainbows.

The day passed pleasantly enough, and he left the office at six, heading home. Tonight he would certainly have to make a push to select a Mr. November. With less than two weeks left to the month, he should get the matter dealt with. He didn't strictly need one per month, but he liked the symmetry of it.

He changed and set his glamour so that he would be prepared for the night. When all was ready, he went to the HotSpot. He hadn't been there for a while, so it would be good to cruise quietly for a man who would not be missed.

He paid his entrance fee without complaint, only turning his allure up a notch to guarantee getting in. Then he found himself a quiet spot on the side and started watching the men go by. A pretty little blond girl stopped by and asked for his order. He requested a whisky, neat, and she brought it to him a short while later. He winked at her, wondering why she seemed familiar to him.

The music seemed less than enjoyable, but he spotted a likely fellow swaying along to it alone. He stood apart from all the groups with the expression of an outsider looking in. Attractive as he was, he appeared to have an insecurity that led him to miss or overreact to overtures by strangers. Dark hair, pale eyes and a boyish face . . . a slim body that suggested athleticism of the lighter varieties. He'd have thought the boy a likely fencer a century ago.

After it became clear that he wasn't going to 'hook up' in the modern parlance, Felix targeted the boy with his glamour. It took several minutes, but he started looking around, searching for the source of the sense that he was being watched. When the boy had found him and stood staring, Felix rose and walked across the room. Other patrons moved out of the way before a subtle sort of obfuscation that this glamour threw on everyone but the target.

"Hello, I'm Leo," Felix said, and it occurred to him to wonder why he'd been thinking of himself as Felix. He dismissed the thought. There would be time to consider that later.

The boy gulped, his whole attention caught by Felix. "My name is Joey," he said.

"You look very lonely over here, all by yourself, Joey." Felix reached out and cupped the boy's cheek. "Can I buy you a drink?" With some men it took extra effort, others were so desperate for attention that it took nothing at all to slip past their defenses. Joey was one of those. Felix took him to the bar and suggested he order something. Joey shook his head uncertainly. "Then let me recommend a Midori sour," Felix said, and Joey shrugged. He seemed tongue-tied, but Felix was sure he could warm him up a bit.

They adjourned from the bar to a table over which Felix managed to get Joey to tell him a bit about himself. He was new in town, looking for work. His family was all on the West Coast, and they weren't in frequent contact. He was, in short, a perfect target. Few could be more perfect, in fact.

When he invited Joey to dance, it became painfully clear that the boy was attracted to him, so he suggested the next obvious move. To his surprise, Joey didn't immediately acquiesce to his invitation back to his place.

"I've got a little room just down the street," Joey said shyly.

"I've got a hot tub," Felix replied, and Joey's eyes widened. Felix took the boy's hands and kissed them. "Come along. I think you'll like it."

Inhibitions weakened by the alcohol, libido inflamed by the glamour, and possessed of the usual youthful conviction in his own immortality, Joey threw caution to the winds and walked out with Felix.

* * *

Dean seemed even more enthusiastic tonight, Sam thought. He'd pretty much let loose and was taking requests from the audience. Thus far, Sam had lucked out. No one had requested Bon Jovi at all. He doubted that would last, but he really hoped Dean would resist the lure if it was thrown out. His brother walked over to the bar and sat down. "Tea?" he asked hoarsely. Sam handed him a large, steaming mug. He nodded his thanks and took a ginger swallow.

"You're in a good mood tonight," Sam said.

"You know that feeling I've had of being watched?" Dean asked. Sam nodded. "Gone. Totally. Like it was never there."

"Good." Sam looked around. Cas had been hovering all evening. He didn't see the angel immediately, and he wondered if Cas's bad feeling had gone away. "Just remember what we talked about, okay?"

"It's been requested twice, Sammy," Dean said, his head jerking towards the stage and the little glass bowl Bill had put there. "I've done something else both times."

Sam was surprised. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Can't have my little brother freaking out on me, can I?" Dean said with an easy grin. "Makes me look bad."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, we need to get this case over with so we can move on."

"Dude, there are half a dozen cases just sitting here, waiting to be looked into," Dean said. "We've got a place, we've got paying jobs for once, we're sticking around here for a while. Capisce?"

"Dean, I don't like it," Sam replied. His own bad feeling hadn't lessened in the slightest. Something was going down. He didn't know what, but he knew there was trouble afoot.

"Like it or don't, that's the way it is, little brother," Dean said. He swallowed a soothing gulp of tea. "Gotta get back. Catch ya later."

Sam sighed and started wiping down the bar.

* * *

Felix poured them both glasses of wine and then he took Joey through the house and into his bedroom. Joey was chattering something about the house, but Felix paid his words little attention. He felt buoyed up by the cheer the young man projected.

Joey's words petered out when they reached the bedroom. Felix reached out and stroked through the young man's hair, so soft and fine. "Nothing to say now?" he asked softly.

Abruptly, Joey turned, cupped Felix's jaw and leaned in to give him a passionate kiss. Pleased, Felix reciprocated. Joey's hands stroked down his back to his buttocks and squeezed gently, then he began to undo Felix's belt. Entertained by Joey's eagerness, Felix continued to kiss while allowing himself to be undressed. How amusing for the boy who had been so shy at the club to become so aggressive in the bedroom. He unbuttoned Felix's shirt and dropped it away, then began to kiss down his chest. When moist warmth enclosed his pecker, he smiled and placed his hand on Joey's head.

It was a pleasant and unexpected interlude that left him weak-kneed and semi-sated. He pulled the young man to his feet and kissed him lingeringly, then walked over to the bed and set his glass down before lounging against the headboard. He gave the fully dressed Joey a look rich with expectation, and the young man flushed becomingly. After a moment, he began to disrobe slowly. He wasn't a professional, but there was more charm in his fumbling than in a smooth performance. When he was naked, he stood for a moment, staring at Felix, his pecker erect in its nest of dark curls.

Vibrant life exuded from the beautiful young man, and Felix drank it in greedily. He rose in a swift movement and crossed to his glittering mayfly. He caught the boy's hands and drew him towards the French doors onto the patio. Joey pressed himself against Felix, kissing his neck and back. Felix kissed his companion's fingers as he pressed the button that retracted the cover of the hot tub. His hands roved Joey's body while he waited for the cover to fully retract. Firm buttocks, muscled back, ever so slightly ticklish.

Felix opened the door and Joey shivered as the chill air struck his bare skin. There were ten feet of wood deck to cross to get to the steaming water. Felix glanced at his companion to see if he was game. His eyes were full of anticipation, and he started forward. Felix held him back and pointed at the soft shoes that lay ready by the side of the door. They both slipped a pair on and stepped out into the winter air.

This spot had been carefully contrived. It was not overlooked by any of the surrounding houses, but it had a lovely view across the garden. In centuries long past, the wealthy had kept vast, landscaped gardens that were designed to be enjoyed even in winter. Felix had done what he could to duplicate that effect with some success. Joey kicked off the shoes at the water's edge and stepped in, reaching back to offer his hand to Felix.

Not wishing to snub the boy, Felix took it, though he had no need of aid. Together, they settled in. There was something exceptionally decadent about a hot pool of water in the midst of the snow and ice, but there was nothing wrong with decadence.

Still drinking his wine, Joey began to hold forth on some subject. Felix simply enjoyed the presence of so much vitality. Joey's spirit was bright and fresh, and very sweet. He wrapped his arms around the young man and stroked his body while he talked.

Before their skin started to lose too many essential oils, wrinkling up grotesquely, he rose and pulled Joey up with him. Drawing on their slippers, they made the freezing crossing from the hot tub to the bedroom.

Once he'd closed the door, he pulled Joey into his arms and began to kiss him with the specific intent of rousing his libido to a fever pitch. It didn't take much effort. The young were so easily aroused. Before long, he was behind Joey, one hand teasing a nipple, the other cradling the young man's balls, his own pecker buried in Joey's body.

He felt it with both his outer and inner senses when Joey began to reach the point of orgasm. Energy cascaded into him as waves of pleasure made Joey tremble and buck. His own climax came a moment later, partially aided by the enormous energy he was absorbing from his partner.

When they were both done, Joey slipped onto his side. His eyes looked sleepy and satisfied. Felix drew him into his arms and gave him a tender kiss as he drew the last of the young man's energy out of him. Joey closed his eyes as if going to sleep, took one last breath, then went still in Felix's arms. Felix stayed with him for a moment, cradling the flesh that had once been a living man. Then he rose and went into his bathroom. He showered and dressed himself in ritual garments. Returning to the bedroom, he cleaned the body with care and respect. Then he hefted Joey onto his shoulder in what these days was called a fireman's carry. In his workroom he had a box that was roughly the size and shape of a large coffin. He carried Joey into the room and carefully placed him within that box. He took a handful salt mingled with myrrh from a large jar that sat on a nearby table and sprinkled the body with it. Closing the lid, he stepped back and silently thanked the boy for the gift he had given so willingly. Then he spoke the words of a spell that was more efficient than any crematorium yet created. It took some time, so he went back into his bedroom and remade the bed, then returned when the cremation was complete. When he opened the box, there was nothing left but the finest of ash.

Using magic, he gathered the ash into a vessel and took it out to the yard. Removing the snow and the top layer of soil from the ground around one of his rosebushes, he placed the ash there, then covered it again.

Finished and ready for a rest, he returned to his room and went to bed.


	36. Chapter 36

Dean woke up on Friday morning feeling great. His aches had subsided somewhat, he hadn't had any kind of flashback in a couple of days, and he didn't feel like he was being watched. That had to mean that both Sam and Castiel were off their gourds. Nothing was endangering him, all was right with the world. Except for the shapeshifter who was murdering gay guys.

He got up and went to the bathroom. The pictures on the wall were getting kind of tattered and warped from all the moisture. He gazed thoughtfully at them while he washed his hands, then he pulled them all down and took them into the dining room.

Everyone but Cas was there, so he dropped his top suspects down on the table and said, "Okay, Jo, Sammy, you've been working in the area long enough. Do you recognize any of these guys?"

They both looked up at him like they were surprised to see him this energetic this early, but he just waited till they peered at the pictures, then glanced over at Ellen. That made him think again. He never felt watched in the apartment, not since Ellen did her mojo on the walls. Well, technically not since she did it on the ceiling, but she'd done the walls and floor before that, so it all counted.

"I've seen a couple of them around, I think," Sam said. "Nothing to notice."

"Same here," Jo said.

Dean sighed. "I was hoping that would shake something loose." He gathered up the photos and tossed them in the garbage.

"Why are you throwing them away?" Ellen asked.

"I can get new copies made, and those are ruined," Dean replied. "Anyway, we need to think about our next move. Clearly, I'm not the target of choice for our guy. He should have moved in on me by now, I'd think."

"Not necessarily," said Jo. "We really don't know his pattern. Only three bodies have been found, so we don't know for absolute sure which are his victims or which just dropped off the grid somewhere. Missing persons are kind of hard to be exact about."

Dean nodded. "So, I keep hanging myself out as bait, and we wait awhile longer."

"That's basically it, I guess," Jo said. "Serial killers are notoriously hard to catch because they have no real connection to their victims."

"Really?" Sam said, deadpan, nodding as if she were providing new information.

"Oh yeah," Jo replied. "It's –"

Ellen would have let it go on from her expression, but Dean shook his head. "He's just yanking your chain, Jo," he said. "Sammy here knows all about serial killers from experience." He blinked. "Not experience as a serial killer, mind you, just . . . I think I'm getting myself in a hole."

"Got," Sam said, glowering at him. "Got yourself in a hole. So, you singing tonight?"

"Through the weekend. The doctor told George to rest his voice or he might damage it altogether, and you know how singers are."

"Not really, no," Sam said. "I guess I'll be on tea detail all night then."

Dean's eyes widened and he gave his brother a startled, betrayed look that Sam seemed to find puzzling.

"Tea?" Jo asked. "Who's drinking tea?" Dean gave her a tight grin and prepared himself for the teasing. "Are you sure you're not really gay, Dean? Because I keep seeing little signs that hint in that direction."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm not gay, Jo. You know it, your mother knows it, my brother knows it. Why are you asking?"

"Well, let's see." She started counting points off on her fingers. "You're startlingly good at applying make-up. You've quite thoroughly nested in this apartment. You seem totally comfortable with guys making passes at you and flirting right back. You're drinking tea, of all things. You –"

"For my voice," Dean protested. "I've never sung this much at a stretch before, and it kind of hurts."

"Right," Jo said, elongating the vowel sound and nodding sarcastically.

Dean was pretty sure she was kidding, but he couldn't help rising to the bait. "Seriously. Bill says it's because I'm not supporting it from the right place, but I don't even know what that means."

Sam and Ellen both shook their heads, but Jo apparently wasn't done. "Besides, you and Castiel clearly have some kind of powerful connection."

"Hey, first off, he's an angel, not a guy. And I – unlike some people – don't do the cross-species thing." Sam grimaced and turned away. "Second, he's the angel who pulled me out of Hell." He shrugged. "That creates a certain bond."

"You are so talking out of your ass," Sam said with a laugh.

"I'm not," Dean protested. "It does. Ask Cas."

"I'm still picking up a gay vibe from you, Dean," Jo said. "I mean, Sam's uncomfortable with all the rampant homosexuality, but you seem to be in your element."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, there are two things there, too. One, I apparently am programmed to fit in wherever I am."

"True enough," Ellen said. "The way you grew up."

Jo shook her head. "Then Sam should have it, too, and he doesn't."

"No," Ellen replied. "Dean was in charge, When John was gone, Dean had to make it work. He became whatever the adults around him expected him to be, and the skill has carried through into adulthood."

Dean blinked at her. "I never thought about it quite like that." Ellen smiled at him.

"Okay, fine. So what was the second thing?"

Dean leaned back in his chair and met her eyes frankly. "I'm not gay –"

"That's not a reason!" Jo interjected challengingly.

"You didn't let me finish," Dean said, and she gestured mockingly for him to continue. "I'm not gay, I'm bi."

A resounding silence met that statement, and then Jo started laughing. "Oh, that's rich. Sorry, Dean, but I don't see you as a waffler."

"Waffler?" Dean repeated, shaking his head. "Look, there are a lot of folks out there who can't make up their minds, I know that, but that's not me."

"That's what I just –"

"I take pleasure where I find it," he said, and she broke off, staring at him. "It doesn't always come packaged in pink, though I confess, that is my preference." Jo was still gaping at him, and Dean was getting a kick out of getting her goat so thoroughly. "Come on, Jo," he said. "The life we live doesn't come with any guarantees of a tomorrow. I'm not passing a good time by because of some bullshit rules."

"So you've had sex . . . with a man?" Jo asked, her eyes wide.

"JoAnna Beth, do you really think that's an appropriate question?"

Dean chuckled. "Do you really think I'd call myself bi just because I'd looked at a couple of guys and thought they were hot?" He shook his head. "Anyway, Sammy and I have some shopping to do. I hope you ladies have a pleasant day."

Sam came with him to the car without argument, which Dean found surprising. It wasn't like they'd planned a shopping trip, or like he'd asked Sammy to come, he'd pretty much just stated it as a fact. Usually that sparked rebellion from his little brother, but Sammy just came tamely down to the car with him. They got in and Dean took off for the mall.

"I'm going to need you to help me pick out the shirts that make me look the most gay," Dean said after they'd been on the road for a few minutes. "Since I'm singing –"

"Dude, you were just pulling her leg in there, weren't you?" Sam said suddenly, and Dean glanced over at his brother. Sam didn't seem to have heard him. "You were just yanking her chain?"

"No, Sam, I wasn't," Dean said, raising his eyebrows. "What of it?"

"You had sex with a guy?" Sam demanded.

"More than one," Dean said, quirking a grin. "Sam, what's gotten into you?"

"When?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Let me dig through my social calendar and see if I can't find you the dates." Sam was staring at him. "Dude, lay off. It's not like it's a big deal." Sam didn't move. "Is it?"

Finally, Sam relaxed a little and leaned back against the seat. "No, no, of course . . . I just . . . dude." He shook his head. "You've had sex with guys. On purpose."

"Well it's not like it could happen on accident," Dean said. "Oops! I just slipped and my dick ended up in –"

"TMI!" Sam exclaimed, waving his hands at Dean.

Dean laughed. "Okay, back a week or so ago, you remember me saying I'd done some weird things in college?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. "I pointed out that you didn't go to college."

"Well, college boys are into experimentation – you know, the ones who aren't you." Sam rolled his eyes. "And it was fun." He grinned at the memory. "I was very popular for a while. Guys would tell their friends about me and I'd –"

"You got passed around from guy to guy?" Sam exclaimed.

"You make it sound like a bad thing," Dean replied, shaking his head over his brother's Puritanical ways. And if he was exaggerating a bit, what was the harm in that? "I told you, nice, well behaved college kids like to feel they've been with a bad boy. I was the bad boy, what with my leather jacket and my lack of schooling. What they didn't know about bad boys wasn't going to hurt them, and they felt naughty." He laughed.

"Dean, I just . . . guys?"

Dean pulled into a parking space at the mall and turned to face his brother. "Okay, what is it? You've never been a homophobe so far as I could tell, so what's got your boxers in a twist?"

Sam stared at him, eyes wide. "Forgive me. My whole world just shifted to the left."

Dean blinked at him. "Are you telling me that demons and the Apocalypse are no big deal, but finding out that your brother had sex with guys is more than you can handle?"

"No!" Sam retorted. "Or . . . maybe." He shook his head. "Dean, you've been . . . I've had a picture of you all my life, and you just kind of . . . shattered it."

"Shattered?" Dean repeated. "Dude, maybe I added to it, but if it shattered, then there's something wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"If your image of me was that fragile, that easily broken, then your image of me was wrong. People aren't that static. They change, and you never know everything about them."

"You're my brother," Sam protested.

"And you're mine, and you got up to stuff last year that I would never have imagined."

"And that didn't shatter your image of me?" Sam asked.

Dean's brows knit. "Are you actually equating screwing a demon and using hellborn psychic powers with riding the pogo stick a time or two on the image-shattering scale?"

"Pogo stick?" Sam repeated.

"It's a metaphor!" Dean rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I have mental super glue." He'd had enough of this conversation. "Let's go. I gotta get two or three more shirts that rate at least an eight on the gay-meter."

* * *

Felix glared at Morgan. "Two years probation? You have to check in with someone weekly?"

"It keeps me from going to prison. I thought that's what you preferred."

"I want you not to attract the attention of the authorities," Felix snapped, glad that he'd never asked Morgan to live in his home. At least they didn't have it as Morgan's address of record if he got caught in something truly heinous.

"I found out more information on Dean Winchester," Morgan said, and Felix stared at him.

Dean . . . how on earth had he forgotten about . . . "What information?" he asked.

"Well, the information that he was a hunter opened a different avenue of research. He's kind of a Don Juan and a bit of a knight errant from what I can see."

"What do you mean?"

"I cracked a Facebook account called 'Wayward Sons.' It's the two of them, and there are a lot of girls on that friends list." Felix shrugged, concealing his perturbation with a great deal of effort. Morgan raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. "He's not gay," he elucidated, as though he thought Felix was missing his point.

"He enjoys our time together, trust me," Felix said. "What of substance have you discovered?"

"You should see this site," Morgan replied. "They talk about ghosts and werewolves and things I've never even heard of. Like, there's this thing called a rugaru –"

"Nasty creatures," Felix said.

"From their description, I'd say so." Morgan was giving him an odd look. "Anyway, it looks like it's a site where people can report supernatural stuff they see, but not one of those lame ones where people talk about 'crossing over' and crap like that. They're actually getting rid of the monsters they run into."

"That's what hunters are all about," Felix said. "I've run into them before, though not recently."

"And there's one guy, screen name of Ironsides, who keeps discussing the Apocalypse, but that's in private messages. Not out in the open."

"It must be some kind of code," Felix said.

"I don't think so," Morgan replied. "It's all in pretty straightforward terms, names and dates, both of people and of . . . well, angels and demons, actually." He shrugged. "Apparently, the Apocalypse started when that old abandoned abbey in Maryland exploded last June."

Felix blinked. "There are signs that herald the coming of the Apocalypse, and I've seen none of them."

"That Ironsides guy here traces them. He's got a timeline, and I've been checking up on it. The events that can be verified are real. It's actually pretty creepy. That town in Colorado where people went nuts and started killing each other off? I think the media blamed it on some kind of hallucinogenic stuff in the water or something, but this guy says it was one of the Four Horsemen."

Felix shook his head. "Is there anything else?"

"Halloween before last, apparently some big demon called Samhain was raised –"

"Samhain!" Felix exclaimed. "Someone raised Samhain?"

"That's what the timeline said."

"That's madness."

Morgan shrugged. "He did some crazy stuff in a small town, and then was exorcised."

"By whom?" Felix asked, astonished.

"Sam, from the sound of things," Morgan said. "But the first event on the timeline you've got to see. It's wacko."

Reluctantly, Felix followed Morgan to the kitchen where his laptop was set up on the table. He sat down in front of it and looked where Morgan pointed. "May 15, 2008: Dean goes to Hell." Felix felt his eyebrows go up. The following four months were filled with stuff about Sam, but underneath it all, there were words that read, "The righteous man sheds blood in Hell, date unknown."

Felix shook his head. "This is all nonsense, and irrelevant besides. If you find anything real in there, let me know." He turned and swept back to his work room where he stared at the mess he found with real dismay. He stood appalled for a moment, then went to his bowl and concentrated. He would locate Dean immediately, then he would reset the summoning – excluding those spirits he had already spoken to.


	37. Chapter 37

Sam dropped the subject of Dean's bisexuality, but he kept giving Dean funny looks throughout the shopping trip. Dean ignored them, but they grated on his nerves. What was so weird? He'd always been into sex. Why did it matter to Sam who he had it with? Especially when Sam had enjoyed the embraces of both a demon and a werewolf. Admittedly, Madison had been cool, but trust his brother to sleep with the werewolf and give Sarah, the honest-to-God hot girl who was interested in him, the brush off.

"Well, Sammy, do I look hot?" Dean asked, posing in a tight-fitting shirt. His brother seemed to be struck speechless by the question, and while that wasn't always a problem, it made shopping with him more difficult.

"I think so," said the clerk, a pretty girl with green eyes and a nice smile. "Are you trying to impress someone specific?"

He grinned at her. "A whole bar full of men, actually. I'm singing at a club tonight."

"Which club?" she asked.

"Woody's," Dean replied, and she raised her eyebrows.

"I see." She looked him over, tilting her head. "I'd say that would suit. Let me see if I can't find you a couple more so you have something to choose from."

With Amber helping, the shopping went a lot faster. It was more fun, too. Dean bought four shirts, and they went back to the car. Once they were underway, Sam cleared his throat. Dean prepared himself for another bout with a totally freaked brother, but Sam didn't even address it. "You know she was probably just working on commission," he said.

Dean looked at him. "What is with you lately? Are you just determined to rain on everybody's parade? You're depressed so the rest of us should be, too?"

"I'm not depressed!"

"Could have fooled me." Dean drove out of the parking lot, paying very little attention to posted speed limits. "Is there some rule that states that we can't ever both be cheerful at once?" Sam scowled, but he didn't respond, and Dean let out a snort. "Oh, wait, when have I ever seen you cheerful? Ever? You're like that black storm cloud that followed Charlie Brown around."

Sam's scowl deepened. "I _am_ not," he replied.

"Oh, you so are," Dean said. He heard a siren and glanced in the rearview. "Son of a bitch!"

"What?"

"There's a cop car behind us," he said, and he pulled over. "Now the question becomes, do I have the right driver's license on me?"

"No, the question is do you have the registration that matches that license in the glove compartment," Sam muttered.

Dean's eyes went wide. "Oops."

The cop walked up to the car. "Do you know how fast you were going?" he asked.

"Frankly, sir, no I don't," Dean said, turning on the charm. "My brother and me were kind of having an argument, and I wasn't paying attention. It won't happen again."

The cop gave him a long look, then nodded. "I should give you a ticket, but I'll let it go this time."

"Thank you, officer," Dean said with a relieved smile.

As he put his pad away, the cop looked from one end of the Impala to the other with an appreciative grin. Dean felt a little glow of pride in his baby, beautiful as always. "So, tell me, how do you keep a car this old running?" the cop asked, turning back to Dean.

"Tender loving care," Dean replied.

"I've got a '66 Chevelle, but I can't keep her going for any length of time at all. You got a specific mechanic you use?"

Dean shrugged. "Actually, I'm my own mechanic. My dad was a mechanic, and this car was his. He taught me to take care of her."

"Well, damn," the cop said. "That option isn't open to me. My dad was an accountant."

"What kind of a problem are you having?" Dean asked. "By the way, my name is Dean."

"Larry," the cop said. "It's hard to explain. I just . . . I wondered if you knew someone who could help me out."

Dean shrugged again. "Hey, if you want, I could come take a look at her. See what she needs, give you a few pointers."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I live here in town. Wouldn't be any trouble."

Larry looked thoughtful. "You free tomorrow?"

"In the morning or early afternoon. I work nights."

"Say, eleven?"

"Sure," Dean said. "Here, you got a piece of paper?" Larry handed him one and a pen. "Here's my cell. Call me."

"Sounds good." He put his pad away. "Drive safe, and keep your arguments for non-driving time."

Dean watched Larry go back to his car in the mirrors, and then he pulled away from the curb, properly signaling first.

"I do not believe you," Sam growled. "I guarantee you, he would have given me a ticket."

"Yeah, well, you piss people off by breathing."

"We're not supposed to argue in the car," Sam pointed out, his tone needling.

"I'm not. I'm just telling the truth." Dean didn't really know why his mood had shifted. He'd been cheerful when they came out of the mall, and now he was on edge. "And now you have completely killed my good mood."

"Maybe Larry should have arrested me for mood-slaughter," Sam said sarcastically.

"Sammy, you could get the death penalty for being a buzzkill," Dean snapped. They drove on in silence, Sam fuming in the passenger seat. Dean wished he hadn't lost his temper, but sometimes Sam drove him up the wall.

The second time he found himself looking around to see if someone was following them, he realized what had set him on edge. That sense of being watched was back. He grimaced and faced front again, steeling himself against it. He was damned if he'd let Sam and Cas's paranoia get to him. Again.

* * *

Sam stared out the window, irritated by Dean's attitude. Why couldn't his brother see how utterly weird it was for him to announce – in front of Jo and Ellen – that he was bisexual? In all the years Sam had spent with his brother – and there were a lot of years – he'd never seen the slightest sign of it. Dean always had an eye for the ladies, but he'd never expressed any attraction for guys at all.

He found himself wondering if their father knew about it. Sam had a feeling he'd have had a cow. Frankly, he didn't know why he was so freaked out about the idea. He'd never had the slightest problem with homosexuality. He turned to look at his brother contemplatively. Maybe it was part of what Ellen said, Dean's ability to conform to what people expected of him.

Regardless, he had to pin down what was bugging him so much, because he could see that he was driving Dean crazy. "I think . . ." he started, but then he trailed off.

Dean glanced towards him. "What?"

He cleared his throat. "I think it's just that it makes me wonder what else I don't know about you, if I'm so fundamentally wrong about something like that."

A few seconds later, Dean pulled over to the side of the road, parking with a screech of brakes. He turned sideways in the seat and glowered at Sam, who had no idea what was wrong. "Knowing that I've had sex with guys does this to you, but knowing that I tortured people in Hell didn't?" he demanded, and Sam suddenly understood what the problem was. "So, torturing people is just what you expect of me?"

"Dean, they're different things," Sam said earnestly, and Dean tilted his head, his expression challenging Sam to explain that statement. "What you did in Hell wasn't about you, it was about what anyone would do if subjected to that much torture for that long a time." Dean closed his eyes and turned away. "What you did in Hell fit exactly with what I know of you, because it took thirty years for you to break. Thirty years!" Dean seemed to flinch with the repetition, and Sam wasn't sure why. "Maybe you've lost sight of this, but that's a long time. I know I wouldn't be able to hold out that long. No one would."

"Dad never broke," Dean said in a monotone, and he was staring out the windshield of the car. "He was tortured for a hundred years, and he never broke."

Sam was dumbfounded for a moment, but then he shook his head. "Who told you that?"

"Alastair," Dean said.

"And you believed him?"

"He was telling the truth about the other stuff he said," Dean replied.

"That doesn't mean a damned thing," Sam retorted. "Reality check, Dad _walked_ out of Hell. When you were still saying no, were you ever let up off the rack?"

"No," Dean said, sounding startled.

"Even if they'd opened the door and waved it at you, there's no way you could have left."

Dean shook his head. "You know, Sammy, the idea that Dad broke doesn't make me feel any better," he said.

Sam grimaced and ground his teeth. "Dean, from everything I've ever heard, you were put on the fast track in Hell." Dean shrugged. "They tortured you the way they did because you were the righteous man."

Dean turned sharply and waved his finger at Sam. "Do not call me that!" he growled. "Never call me that!"

Sam moistened his lips. "Okay, they tortured you like that because they _thought_ you were the righteous man."

"What about never did you fail to understand?" Dean demanded.

"Dean, I'm trying to make a point." Dean thumped back against the seat, glaring out the front window. "Okay, would you call me a righteous man?"

"Hell no," Dean replied instantly. "I'm not even sure I'd call you a man, most of the time."

Sam tried not to let that sting since Dean was clearly reacting to it as a joke, not a serious question. It still bugged him a little, but he pushed that aside. There were bigger fish to fry here. "Okay, which of us would you say is more like Dad? For real."

"Superficially, me," Dean said. "Where it matters, you." Sam waited for Dean to make the connection between the two questions. After a few seconds, Dean turned towards Sam with wide, horrified eyes. "I didn't mean – that's not what – I –"

Sam shook his head. "Get over it, Dean. Dad was no more a righteous man than I am. And you're right, I'm way more like him than you ever were." Sam shook his head. "I'd be willing to bet that Alastair never even touched Dad. The head torturer of Hell? He was waiting for you."

Nothing seemed to happen for a long moment, then Sam realized that Dean seemed almost frozen. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and discovered that his brother was trembling. "Dean?" There was no response, but Dean's hands were fisted so tightly that his knuckles were white. "Dean! Come back! Dean?"

It didn't last longer than a minute, he didn't think, but it seemed to go on forever. Sam scooted over close to Dean and put his hand on his brother's back. Finally, Dean seemed to come to himself. He let out a sob and tried to coil into a fetal ball. Hesitantly, Sam pulled him into his arms and, to his surprise, Dean clutched onto him, sobbing without tears, his shoulders shaking as his emotions let loose. Sam just held him, not sure what else to do.

After a while, Dean's sobbing slowed, and Sam wondered if he should pull away and pretend nothing had happened, or if he should hold on. He wasn't really given a choice. Dean's hands didn't release their death grip on his shirt.

"What has happened?" The voice came from behind him, and Sam nearly jumped out of his skin. Dean tensed, then slowly relaxed as Sam stroked his back.

Sam gave Cas an alarmed look. "I'm not sure. We were talking about Hell and then –" He shook his head helplessly. "I think it may have been something I said."

"What did you say?"

Sam grimaced as a car went by at high speed, causing the Impala to rock and Dean to tense up again. "Could we pick the situation apart later? I need to get Dean back to the apartment."

Castiel reached out and gently touched Dean between the eyes, and Dean went limp. Sam glowered at the angel as he carefully eased the now-sleeping Dean over on the seat. Castiel helped him by steadying Dean while Sam got out of the car and shut the door. Gesturing for Cas to wait before he allowed Dean to slump against the door, Sam arranged a jacket as a makeshift pillow between Dean's face and the unforgiving metal, glass and plastic. Hurrying around the car, Sam waited for another vehicle to pass and got in. "You can't keep doing that, Cas," he said.

"Doing what?" Castiel asked.

"Putting Dean to sleep whenever you feel like it."

"I do not," Castiel replied.

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but found that he didn't really have words. So, there were times when Cas wanted to put Dean to sleep when he didn't? That somehow didn't reassure Sam much. He started the car and got back on the road as soon as it was possible.

When they were underway and safely into the flow of traffic, Cas spoke again. "What did you say?"

Sam quelled the anger that arose at that accusatory question. He reminded himself that the angel was poorly socialized and didn't necessarily mean the words the way they sounded. When that didn't altogether work, he forced himself to remember that with Dean being so careless of his own safety, he and Cas were going to have to work together to keep his brother safe, whatever their differences.

"Sam?" Cas said with a hint of impatience.

Grinding his teeth, Sam glanced at the angel in the rearview. "Do you know anything about what happened to my father in Hell?" Cas's brows drew together in what looked like the beginnings of anger. "It's relevant," Sam said to forestall any further reaction.

Castiel's eyes narrowed, but after a few moments of thought, he replied to the question. "Very little," the angel said.

"Do you think anyone, the demons or the angels, mistook him for 'the righteous man' who had to break to set all this crap in motion?"

Castiel blinked at him, all anger seeming to fade from his expression. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Because apparently Alastair told Dean that he'd tortured Dad for a hundred years and he never broke."

"Impossible," Castiel said unequivocally.

"That's what I said," Sam replied. "Anyone would have broken under that pressure, and –"

"Whether John Winchester would have broken or not is a moot point," Castiel said, interrupting him. "He was not tortured by Alastair in Hell."

Sam shook his head. "But I thought you said you didn't know what happened to my dad."

"I do not, but I do know that Alastair was not in Hell during that year," Castiel said.

Sam stared out the windshield blindly for a second until honking horns alerted him to a green light. He got moving again and glanced at Cas in the mirror again. "So there's no way that Alastair could have done to Dad what he did to Dean?" Sam asked.

"None at all," Castiel said flatly. Only in that moment did Sam realize how devastated he'd been to think that his father and brother had both suffered the same torture in Hell. The relief he felt made him lightheaded. "Why did you ask?" Castiel said. "What is the relevance?"

Sam ran the conversation through his mind. "I told Dean that anyone would have broken under that torture, and that no one would have held out as long as he did."

"That is true."

"You try telling Dean that," Sam said bitterly. "That bastard twisted him around in so many different ways, it's . . ." He couldn't find words.

"It is the way of demons," Castiel said.

"Where was he, if he wasn't in Hell?" Sam asked abruptly. "I got the impression that he never left if he could avoid it."

Castiel shrugged. "I do not know the particulars of his mission, only that some of my brothers watched him. It was not necessary then that I know, and now I cannot find out."

Sam grimaced. Something that kept Alastair out of Hell and required more than one angel to observe sounded scary. "Must have been pretty important."

"It was," Castiel replied somberly. "That much I know." He paused, and Sam didn't know what else to say or ask. He just knew he was about to fly apart from anger and anxiety. Castiel tilted his head. "Yet, despite the importance of his mission, the moment your brother arrived in Hell, Alastair abandoned it and returned."

"So . . . what I said was right." Sam swallowed an uncomfortable lump.

"What did you say?"

"That Alastair probably hadn't laid a hand on Dad, that Alastair was waiting for him. That was when he flipped out."

"Did he have a flashback?"

"I think so. Hard to tell, and I couldn't exactly ask him. He just froze solid for a while, then . . ." His voice failed him. Having his big brother come apart on him like that had seriously thrown him for a loop. How many times had that sort of thing happened while Sam was out with Ruby? How many times had he failed to be there for his brother? He'd never know because Dean would never admit he'd needed him.

"Then what?"

"Then he broke down," Sam said, and his voice was unsteady. "And if we keep talking about this, I'm going to break down. Someone has to drive the car."

After that, Castiel stopped talking, but Sam could feel him sitting in the backseat. He focused on the road and the need to get Dean home.

* * *

Fortunately, the summoning spell had already brought many spirits close, and they would not disperse quickly. Felix rewrote the parameters to exclude those who had already come. Particularly he excluded anyone called Andy. For a resting spirit to have that amount of power was alarming in the extreme. Then he began to augment the protections. He'd never encountered such powerful spirits before. If Dean and Sam had quelled them, he was impressed by their fortitude.

He had observed Dean driving his precious car, now he was ready to know more about him. He settled before the mirror and summoned spirits. The first several were of little interest. They knew no more than that Dean was a pleasant young man. Then a beautiful young woman appeared. She had wavy blond hair that hung past her shoulders. She gave him a puzzled look. "Where am I? What am I doing here?"

"I need you to tell me everything you know about Dean Winchester," Felix said.

She blinked at him. "My boyfriend's brother?" she asked, and he knew hope for a moment. That was a reasonably close connection. "I don't know anything much, really. Sam never talked about him. I met him once, and he seemed like kind of a lech, but I don't really know him."

Felix stared at her in dismay. "You don't know him?"

She shook her head. "No, not really." Her brows knit. "Who are you, anyway?"

He sent her on. No one appeared immediately to replace her, so he rose, rubbing his forehead. How many spirits would he have to sort through before he found someone who actually knew anything about his Dean?

He stretched, relaxing his muscles one by one. His frustration was engendering tension, which did not aid in spellwork. He had his eyes closed and his neck at full extension when he began to have a strange feeling as if he were being watched. Morgan wasn't in the house, so it couldn't be him. Exhaling as he relaxed from his full stretch, he looked at the mirror and nearly swallowed his teeth.

Generally spirits arrived confused or at least questioning. Even his most powerful recent visitors had done so. Spirits most definitely did not remain silent as they pressed as close to the edge of containment as possible. Nor did they peer at him balefully through eyes filled with loathing. Above all, spirits wanted to communicate, they wanted to be heard.

A dark-haired man stood at the edge of the mirror, one hand pressing at the barriers that kept him within the confines of the mirror's field of view. Felix could sense this spirit's attempts to escape containment. Fortunately after his previous experiences, Felix had warded the spell against spiritual influence, so his visitor was unlikely to be able to escape the mirror.

Returning to his seat, Felix kept his turmoil of alarm and perplexity concealed by a genial mask of welcome. He studied his visitor. The face was undeniably familiar. "Who are you?" Felix asked.

Dark eyes narrowed, but the spirit did not respond. He continued to stare at Felix, unblinking. It was a singularly unnerving glare.

Felix tightened his control, implementing a spell that would force the spirit to speak. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"John Winchester." The spirit's eyes widened, then narrowed again with murderous hate.


	38. Chapter 38

Felix gulped. John Winchester. That explained the familiarity of the face. This was the father of his target. Who could possibly know more about him? On the other side of the coin, he gathered that Sam and Dean had been trained as hunters by their father. One hunter had already escaped him by his arts, and he had died relatively young by the look of him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Felix said. It was not a question, so the spirit was not compelled to respond. "I want you to tell me . . ." What to ask Dean's father? Everything he knew could grow rather encyclopedic. "What experiences has Dean had that could lead to paralyzing flashbacks?" he asked

Winchester had been caught by surprise the first time. This time he fought the spell's power. "Not your concern," he grated out, his voice low and hard.

"I must know, or I run the risk of sending him mad," Felix said, and Winchester's eyes narrowed further. "What trauma has he suffered that would cause –"

"My sons are going to kill you," Winchester said with assurance.

"I have dealt with hunters before," Felix replied. "I must know what I ask, or you risk your son's sanity."

"You've never dealt with the Winchesters before," the spirit said arrogantly.

Felix opened his mouth to respond, but then another spirit entered the mirror, a column of fire that moved as any living human would. Felix got to his feet, his chair falling back behind him, staring in horror at the new spirit. The fire spirit caught the furniture and decorations alight as it passed. This should not be possible! The paired children he'd seen first were one thing, they'd been practically a unit, and they'd come together. Until he'd sent the current spirit away, another spirit should not be able to enter the confines of the summoning. Winchester didn't even look back, but nevertheless he held out his hand towards the newcomer. A fiery appendage reached forth and took it, and they stood facing him, side by side in the mirror.

When he began to smell smoke, Felix turned and saw that the conflagration he had taken as symbolic of the spirit's passage in the mirror was in fact quite real. Only those things that were visible from the mirror were on fire, but they were going up swiftly. Felix turned back towards the mirror and the figures contained therein. He sensed the spell of containment begin to weaken. It was not truly meant for two spirits, certainly not two such powerful spirits.

He reached forward, but the glass felt hot as he ran his hand along it to send them back from whence they came. Nothing happened. They didn't vanish, no new spirit took their place, and the flames rose behind him. He stared in shock and tried again, summoning more of his strength to push them back to wherever they had come from. He could feel the heat of the fire on both sides of his body now, and he knew he had to take action. Seizing the chair he'd been sitting on, he slammed it into the mirror, half-expecting the glass to bounce the chair back with the strength of the spirits it held.

Instead it shattered into splinters of brightly glinting shrapnel. Those that hit his skin burned as well as cut. The fire did not go out, but it stopped growing as quickly. Felix hurried to a cupboard concealed in the wall and drew out a modern convenience that he kept hidden but available for just these sorts of situations. Pulling the pin, he activated the fire extinguisher, putting out the flames.

With the fire out, he dropped the extinguisher and turned to stare at the remains of the mirror. Shards lay scattered on the hardwood floor. Felix knelt and looked closer at the nearest and saw that they had actually scorched the floor. He shook his head. He'd have to leave this clean up for later. He couldn't face it now. Rising, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

He went into the bathroom and pulled out the first aid kit and began to doctor his wounds. As he got started, he heard the front door open. Morgan was early. Felix listened to his servant moving around, wondering what he was up to. Then he heard Morgan's voice. "Leo? Leo, are you here?"

"In here," Felix called.

He heard running footsteps and Morgan came around the door frame, eyes wide. "What the hell happened in there? It looks like you caught the house on fire."

"I did, briefly," Felix admitted.

"My God, your face!" Morgan exclaimed. He came into the bathroom and took over the process of bandaging Felix's injuries, sitting him down and fussing over him. "You've got to be more careful," he said.

"Why did you go in?" Felix asked. "You know I don't like it."

"I smelled smoke and I was worried." He stroked Felix's cheek. "But you're okay, right?"

"I am well enough." Felix looked up. "Tell me, how did Dean's mother die again?"

"She was killed in a fire."

Felix nodded, unsurprised. When Morgan led him to the kitchen and started fixing dinner, he didn't protest.

* * *

Dean sat up and rubbed his aching head. He felt like crap, but he couldn't remember why. No drinking that he could recall, no wild partying. He'd gone shopping so far as he could . . . an image from his flashback gave him the clue he'd needed. He really had not enjoyed his first meeting with Alastair. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them, burying his face. What the hell was wrong with him? Or maybe it should be 'what the Hell' was wrong with him.

He could feel his shoulders starting to shake and he refused to let it happen. He'd be damned if he'd let this destroy his life. That notion struck him suddenly as funny. He'd be damned . . . been there, done that, don't want the t-shirt.

Heavy footsteps alerted him to the fact that Sam was in the apartment, and that he'd apparently just noticed that his brother was awake. "Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean looked up and tried to quell the hysterical laughter. Sammy would not appreciate jokes about damnation. Even Bobby might look askance. Sometimes he wished he had someone who could find humor in his occasional black jokes about Hell. It was easier to minimize an experience if you could laugh about it, and laughing alone sucked.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean said with an ironic smile. "What time is it?"

"About four," Sam said. "Look, Dean, I need to tell you something."

"If it's about what were talking about earlier, I don't want to know," Dean replied. "I need some food and then I need to start getting ready for work. George would lose his voice the one week Ted didn't find a band for the weekend."

"Dean, you can't go to work tonight!" Sam exclaimed. "You look gray."

"I need food, Sammy," Dean said, shoving past his brother to get out of bed. "Go make me something healthy, you know, something you'd eat." He headed for the bathroom. He felt grimy and sticky, like he needed a shower. Pausing, he turned to Sam. "Did I do that in public?"

"In the car," Sam said.

"Oh my God," Dean muttered, going into the bathroom and closing the door. He couldn't keep doing this, and he didn't understand why it had suddenly started. He'd been out of Hell for more than a year. It was nuts that he would start having this kind of flashback eighteen months later. He glanced at himself in the mirror after starting the water. Sam wasn't wrong. He was gray. He hoped a shower and food would make him look less like the walking dead.

He snorted, climbing into the shower and pulling the curtain across. And when he talked about looking like the walking dead, he knew what he was talking about. That Angela girl had been major league creepy.

The shower helped with the headache, especially after he spent about five minutes just standing still under the steaming hot water, his head immersed. When he was done, he wasn't altogether sure he wanted to leave the bathroom. He knew Sam would have questions, and he didn't want to deal with them. Talking about this crap always seemed to lead to the same place, and he'd had enough fun today.

There was a knock on the door while he sat on the toilet, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Dean, you okay in there?"

"I'm fine," Dean growled. "Give me a minute."

No sound of footsteps indicated his brother's departure from the door, so Dean heaved a sigh, got up and pulled the door open. Sam looked him up and down, nodded, then said, "When you're dressed, there's some hot soup on the table."

Dean watched him walk away in confusion. Where were the demands for information? Where was the freaking out? He couldn't decide whether he felt unloved or relieved, or a weird combination of both. He pulled on a pair of loose jeans and a t-shirt. Sam had cranked the heat up pretty high in here, and Dean was grateful. He didn't feel like piling on layers of clothing at the moment.

Not just hot soup. Hot tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches. Dean grabbed a sandwich, ripped it in half and dipped it in the soup. "This really hits the spot, Sammy," he said through a mouthful of soupy sandwich.

"I figured it would," Sam said, sitting down opposite him with a bowl of his own. "It's not as healthy as you asked for, but it is comfort food." Dean nodded, continuing to eat. "I can't count the number of times we had this when we were kids."

"It was easy and cheap," Dean said, not sure if Sam was counting that as a good thing or a bad thing. Still, Sam was having the same meal, so he couldn't think too poorly of it.

"Dean, that was pretty scary today," Sam said after a few minutes of silent eating.

Dean grimaced and shrugged. "Sorry, I –"

"Dude, I am so not asking for an apology," Sam exclaimed. "I'm just . . . how often has that happened when you were alone, and you just didn't tell me?"

Dean looked up from his bowl, startled by the question. "Never."

"Seriously? Because I really need to know." Sam gazed earnestly at him. "I've been a jerk and I know it, but this could be dangerous."

"Dangerous, Sammy?" Dean said, shrugging.

"What if you'd still been driving when it hit?" Sam asked, and Dean's jaw dropped. "Think of what could happen to the car, if nothing else." Dean was caught briefly in the horrifying thought of that, then he glared at Sam, knowing that was a statement about which he thought Dean rated higher, his brother or his car. Sam laughed. "I know how you feel about that car," he said. "Besides, you and I heal. The car –"

"Right," Dean said, cutting him off, not wanting to think too hard about that. "So, seriously, no. The first one I had that really flipped me out like that was on that day I can't remember. Mostly they're little two-second jobbers at most, often less than that. Just flashes, really. Like when we were in the witch turned art teacher's classroom. Those masks." Dean shuddered.

Sam's eyes went distant like he was thinking back on that day. "You paused, I remember, looking at them, but I just thought you were unimpressed."

"Oh, no, they impressed me, all right," Dean said with feeling. "But what a shock, the teacher was an ancient witch, one of the students was another ancient witch."

"Dean, high school students are morbid, especially art students," Sam said. "That stuff was pretty normal."

Dean shuddered. "Whatever. That's what usually happens." He gazed at his soup, not meeting Sam's eyes. "A weird flash, some images, a little sound, smells." He grit his teeth and forced a shrug. "Occasionally sensations. Never something that lasted longer than a couple of seconds, though. Not till Monday."

"And because you still don't remember most of Monday afternoon and evening –"

"There's no way to know what caused it," Dean finished his statement for him.

Sam looked pensively at him. "Castiel might be able to find out."

"If he wants to take a gander through time, that's up to him," he said. "I'm going to go get dressed. Where's the bag?"

"Bag?" Sam repeated.

"You know, the clothes I bought today?"

"Oh, that's probably still in the car," Sam said, and Dean got up to go get it. "We were kind of focused on getting you upstairs."

The pronoun brought Dean to a stop. He turned and glowered at his brother. "We? We who?"

"Me and Cas," Sam said.

Dean supposed it could be marginally worse. It could be Sam and Cas and Ellen and Jo. He grabbed his coat and went downstairs for the bag. As soon as he left the apartment, it hit him again, that feeling of being watched. It almost made him turn around and go back in, but he refused to be intimidated by a feeling that was probably brought on by paranoia on the part of other people. He trotted down the stairs, went out the front door and got the bag out of the car. He glanced around to see if he could spot any watchers, but no one seemed to be paying him the slightest attention.

He went back upstairs to get ready for work.

* * *

Felix walked into the club under a glamour that should be impenetrable to other witches as well as to ordinary people. He knew that his rival had been present earlier because he'd tried to look in on Dean from home before he'd come, so there was no knowing if he was here now.

The club was packed, all jostling to get closer to the stage. Dean was singing a song about love and loss and feeling it with every fiber of his being. The sheer natural charisma the man possessed and the radiant spirit that poured forth from him made a potent combination. When he was standing still, that spirit wouldn't be visible to the average bystander, but singing was a deliberate effort to put one's soul on display. What amused him was that Dean had no idea he had that effect on people. Sam clearly was not affected, so he wouldn't get the information from him.

As Felix made his way through the crowds, he caught sight of the boyfriend, the one he believed was called Cas. The man he'd never seen in company with Dean except in person, despite the fact that he clearly spent a great deal of time in Dean's vicinity. There was a power exuding from him, albeit at low levels. Felix hadn't sensed that before. Perhaps he was under some stress that eroded his shielding. Felix would have to keep that possibility in mind.

He walked up to the bar and ordered a drink from Dean's brother. Watching him flip the bottles up and through the air, he had to admit that the boy did have a talent, but it was a fairly useless one, all told. His spirit, too, was noticeable to the trained eye, but it had nowhere near the radiance of Dean's. There was a darker taint, one that Felix did not care to touch. He turned towards the stage and watched his Dean sing to the audience. There was a pleasure in watching him excite the crowd, and a power that could be tapped in all those yearning to get hold of him. Perhaps, once Dean had accustomed himself to living under Felix's care, he could do this again. Not here, not in Salt Lake, it would be too dangerous, but in New York or Los Angeles where he wasn't likely to be known. Or even in Europe. That might be the best notion, actually. Hunters rarely left the continent of their birth – or at least of their entry into hunting.

From several nights' observation, he knew that there would be a break coming up soon. He looked around and made some subtle manipulations of the minds of those around him. He smiled in anticipation and, slipping off his stool, he went to the basement storeroom.

* * *

Dean left the stage feeling more exhausted than he'd ever admit to Sam. He put up a front of energy and went over to the bar to get his tea. Sam took one look at him and let out a curse that made him sound like a pirate. "I'm sorry, Dean, I forgot to make your tea. I'll set it going now."

Dean shrugged and looked away. Sam did seem to have kind of an obnoxious crowd at the bar right now. A guy at the other end pounded on the counter. "I want more peanuts, damn it! Where are the peanuts?" The guy was clearly drunk and his demand had sort of a repetitive lilt to it, as if he'd said it more than once. Dean looked around for another waiter, but everyone seemed to be on the other side of the room.

Sam leaned across the bar and spoke in an undertone. "Dean, could you do me a favor while I fix your tea?"

"Peanuts?" Dean asked, glancing at the prick.

Sam grinned with relief. "Yeah, that would be great."

Dean nodded and hurried across to the hallway that led to the storeroom. He opened the door and trotted down the stairs, intent on getting back in time to get some tea. The door fell shut behind him and as he turned the corner towards the shelving, a feeling of lassitude came over him. He slowed to a stop, one hand reaching for the wall, the other for his head because something felt very wrong. Hands reached around him from behind, and as they touched him, all his will to move seemed to flow away in a rush of sexual pleasure. The sensation seemed strangely familiar, but Dean couldn't think why. He put his hand out to push the unknown arm away, but he wound up with his hand just resting on the arm. He felt a nose and lips pressed against his neck and arched back into the erotic sensation they supplied.

Overpowering sexual yearning filled him as teeth brushed his skin, and he melded to the body behind him, seeking gratification. Fear threaded through his belly as some part of his brain sounded an alert but that claxon was drowned in the surge of desire. Nevertheless, he still didn't seem to be able to move more than to press against the man who held him so close. Hands roved his chest and abdomen, touching, teasing, toying with the sensitive skin at the base of his belly. Teeth toyed with his ear and his neck till he managed to turn his head and join the man in a kiss that sent his mind spinning away in a whirlwind of pleasure. He felt a hand undo his belt and then open his pants, releasing the uncomfortable pressure that had been building. A part of his mind screamed at him to find some way to stop this, but it was too little, too late. Slipping his underwear aside, the man pulled Dean's penis out and Dean moaned into his companion's mouth as a hand closed around his partial erection. Skillful fingers brought Dean fully erect and continued to stroke. Dean's breathing grew shallow and he knew he was going to cum soon.

The part of his brain that still had some remnant of sense pointed out that he had no idea who had hold of him, and he had no control over what was happening. He needed to put a stop to it. But his body didn't give a good God damn who was in control, it liked what was happening and didn't want it to stop.

He turned his head away from the kiss, fighting against the lassitude, against the overwhelming desire he felt. He put his hands against the wall and pushed, but he hadn't the strength to achieve anything. Dean's heart pounded in his chest, he felt a rushing in his ears, as an unbearable tension shook him. He fought against it with everything he had, and the man made a disappointed noise and squeezed Dean's dick gently. Dean shuddered slightly, not sure what exactly was going on, but knowing it was not good. The stranger nuzzled his neck and sighed. "Next time, perhaps," he murmured softly, and Dean shook his head as much as he could. Next time? Then the man began to speak soft words in Latin, and Dean lost awareness.


	39. Chapter 39

Sam placed the last drink of a long order on the bar and Martin finished it off with a cherry on a sword before whisking his tray away with him. Sam expected another waiter behind him, but it was Cas, very flat of affect. "Where is Dean?" he demanded.

Dean hadn't been gone more than two minutes. Sam looked up towards the hallway. "I sent him to the basement for peanuts," he said.

Cas's eyes blazed with fury. "He should never go anywhere alone!" Sam started to ask what the problem was, but Cas simply walked away towards the basement door, having to shove his way through the crowd. Sam scanned the club for Ted, then raised a hand to catch his eye.

* * *

Felix made one last check of Dean's garments and skin to make certain that there were no signs of the interlude they'd shared. Then he placed the can of peanuts in the young man's hands, stepped behind him and gave him a mental nudge. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he'd be himself again. In the meantime, Felix had some work to do. He needed to mask the spells he'd used to control Dean, because the other witch would soon grow curious, assuming he hadn't already.

That raised an interesting point. If his rival had still noticed nothing, he was probably neither powerful nor experienced. As such, he could be fairly easy to take out of the equation altogether. Felix looked around the room and contemplated ways and means. He would lay a little trap for the witch should he check this basement out, but he'd have to select something that would only affect those with power. Catching and incinerating an ordinary person would be wasteful and pointless – and it could lead to questions. He didn't mind dealing with possible consequences, but only if there was a benefit to be gained.

He set about the necessary spellwork. It shouldn't take very long, and then he could return upstairs and watch his Dean sing.

* * *

Having gotten permission to take a break from Ted, Sam hurried over to where Cas seemed to be talking to Dean. Before he reached them, Dean left him and passed right by Sam without even seeming to notice him. He deposited the peanut can on the bar and went back up towards the stage. Sam turned towards Castiel and found that the angel was now right beside him. "I must speak to you. It is urgent." Sam nodded mutely, his eyes back on Dean. Castiel drew him out through the back room to the alley behind the club. "We have a problem," Cas said flatly.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"I do not know, but someone has tampered with Dean's memories."

Sam blinked at him. "Tampered with his memories?" he repeated. "You've got to be kidding!" Castiel merely stared at him, and Sam shook his head. "Of course not, I know. Sorry. Can you access the real ones?"

Cas's brow knit. "I cannot, or I could not in the brief time I had just now. But I do not believe this is the first time."

"Monday?" Sam asked.

"It is likely. It is also likely that what he has forgotten from Monday was the precursor for the flashback." Castiel looked disturbed by this information, and Sam felt a tendril of alarm. It did sort of confirm Dean's claim not to have had flashbacks like this before. If someone was dicking around in Dean's head, God knew what it could affect.

"Okay, so what was the flashback? That could give us a hint about what happened." Castiel didn't respond, and Sam's temper snapped. "Dude, screw Dean's privacy. If someone is messing with his memories so that we can't tell what's going on, we need to share all the information we do have." Something Cas had said right after the first incident floated to the surface of his mind. That memory had a sexual component. "Cas, what did he flash back to?" Sam demanded.

"I do not know which aspect of the flashback was sparked by the actual events," Cas said carefully.

Sam gulped. An angel of the Lord temporizing could not be a good sign. "Just tell me." Another thought occurred to him suddenly. "Damn it, he was in the storage room! Did you go down there?"

"I did not," Castiel said and Sam took off running. He sidled through the club and ran down the basement stairs. Everything looked completely normal, but then he had a feeling like electricity building up on his skin. The hair on his arms and legs stood up, even the hair on his head shifted. He started to turn, but moving made it worse. The electricity continued to amplify and Sam couldn't figure out how that was possible. He was crackling with electricity and beginning to freak out when a hand on his shoulder suddenly grounded the charge, or at least took it away from him. He turned and found Castiel behind him. "We have a serious problem indeed."

"What the hell was that?" Sam demanded.

"It was a trap that should not have caught you," the angel said. "The trap was set for a witch. I believe you tripped it only because . . ."

"Because of the demon blood," Sam said sourly.

"It is the only explanation that makes sense," Castiel said.

Sam suddenly felt slow. "Wait. If the trap was to catch a witch . . . who set it?"

"The witch who has been interfering with Dean."

Sam swallowed. "So, not a shapeshifter."

"No."

"How do we tell Dean about this?" Sam asked, dreading the idea.

"I will use words," Castiel said.

"That's not funny. Dean's going to freak."

"I was not making a joke. Dean prefers to face things directly."

Sam grimaced. "Yeah, I guess." He shook his head. "I'd better get back to work. Keep an eye on him, will you, Cas?"

"Do not send him to isolated rooms where he will be alone."

Sam nodded and they went up the stairs together. Dean was singing from the eighties, and the audience seemed enthralled.

* * *

Ellen walked into Woody's after patting the bouncer on the cheek for his kind words. Being called the hottest of hot mamas made her feel good, even if it was quite likely that he thought her a man in drag. She heard Dean's voice as soon as she got inside. "Sweet Dreams," indeed. She looked up at him and contemplated how very much like his father he looked, but she couldn't imagine John ever singing to a crowd. She'd dropped by the HotSpot to check out the atmosphere, and now she was stopping by Woody's. With all the crazy stuff that was going on, she wanted to be sure that the kids were taking proper care in their investigations.

Dean was actually pretty good. It was no wonder his band friends wanted him to sub for their usual lead singer. She wandered through the crowd, keeping an experienced ear out for trouble or information. Finally she wound up a few people away from the bar, and she stared at Sam. Maybe if she ever managed to settle down with a new Roadhouse, she ought to get the boys to come work for her. Sam could draw the crowd in, and Dean could keep them there, or the other way 'round. Every move Sam made had a purpose, even if extreme bartending had always struck her as basically frivolous. Watching Sam do it, she could see the appeal.

She pushed through the remaining people between her and the bar and hopped up on a stool. He moved immediately towards her, and his eyes widened. "Ellen, what are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you kids," she said. "How's Dean holding up?"

"He had another one today," Sam replied, and Ellen turned in surprise to look at the young man singing to keep the crowd dancing. "He refused to take the night off." Sam glanced at the man next to her, then leaned closer. "Ellen, we're going to have to have a meeting tonight. Cas has turned up new information that's extremely alarming."

"Does Dean know?"

Sam grimaced. "Not yet. I've got all sorts of news to give him tonight."

"None of it good I'm guessing," she said, reading his body language and facial expression.

Sam shook his head. "What can I get for you?"

"Whisky, rocks."

Sam brought it to her and then got back to work. She stayed about an hour and then headed home. If they were going to have a meeting, there would need to be food and beverages available, and she was the only one who wasn't working. Jo got home first as usual. By virtue of not having to put the bar to bed each night, she got to leave earlier than Sam did, and Dean waited for Sam. Ellen had put a note on their bathroom mirror letting Jo to know to clean up and come downstairs, so about twenty minutes after she heard the footsteps go up, she heard them come back down again.

The door opened and Jo walked in wearing flannel pajamas. "You don't think anyone would mind if I didn't get dressed for this, do you?" she asked.

Ellen kept her laugh internal and shook her head. "I'm sure they won't care."

"What's going on?"

"Dean had another flashback today, I guess, and Castiel has found out some information that Sam thinks we all need to hear."

"What information?"

"He couldn't exactly explain it to me between mixing cocktails with people all around us." Jo shrugged and went into the kitchen where she grabbed herself a beer. "I've got nachos heating up."

"Good, I'm starving," Jo replied.

Just then, they both heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Sam and Dean walked in, Castiel right behind them. Dean looked haggard. Singing was a lot of work, and Dean wasn't used to it. "Dean, why don't you go sit down while I get changed," Sam said, trying to guide his brother towards the table.

"Sammy, if you don't stop babying me, I'm going to deck you."

"Dean, if you hit me right now you'd knock yourself flat," Sam said irritably. "I just want you to sit down before you fall over." Seeming to wash his hands of the situation, Sam stomped off towards the bathroom, grabbing some clothes as he went. Dean glowered at his brother's retreating back, but he walked over to the table anyway and lowered himself into a chair, resting his head on his crossed arms. Castiel had shadowed him the whole way across the apartment, which was probably the only reason Sam hadn't stayed to see Dean sit down.

"Cas?" Dean said to the table.

"Yes?" the angel replied.

"Sit down. I know you're capable, and if you don't stop hovering, I'm going to hurt myself trying to beat you up."

Castiel appeared to consider this odd threat for a moment, then pulled out a chair and sat down. He sat as stiffly as he stood.

"You want me to fix you some nachos, Dean?" Jo asked, and the boy's head came up an inch or so.

"Nachos?" he asked.

"Yeah." Jo walked over and put the plate she'd been fixing for herself in front of Dean. "Have some. Let me grab you a Coke."

Dean glanced at her over his shoulder suspiciously. "What are you up to?" he asked.

Jo raised her eyebrows, pausing with the refrigerator door open. "What do you mean?"

"Oh," Dean said. "Thanks." He shook his head. "I'd rather have coffee, but I can –" Ellen put a cup down in front of him, and he gave her an odd look. "Did Sam tell you that something . . . came up . . . earlier today?"

"He said you'd had another flashback," Ellen said frankly. She put her own plate and cup of coffee down, then went to load a plate up for Sam. Castiel never ate or drank anything that she saw, but she'd put a cup of coffee down in front of him anyway when she brought Dean's out.

"Great," Dean muttered. "Now you guys know I'm fruit loops."

"I think it's goes with the territory," Jo said, sitting down and popping open her can of Coke. "All hunters are fruit loops."

"Well, I'm fruit loopier than I was a month ago," Dean growled. "And I don't know why."

"We think we do," Sam said, and they all looked up. He was dressed as casually as Jo, in a pair of loose sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt. "Those for me?" he asked, pointing at the plate and cup of coffee. Ellen bit back a sarcastic retort and nodded, nudging Jo when she sensed a bit of ill-timed humor from that direction. Her daughter gave her a startled look, and she shook her head very slightly. She hoped Dean wouldn't notice the byplay, but as it happened, his attention seemed to be firmly focused on the other side of the table.

"What do you mean, you think you do?" Dean demanded, glaring at his brother and at Castiel. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"We did not wish to disturb your equilibrium while we were still in a public environment," Castiel said.

Dean blinked at him. "Come again?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "We didn't want to freak you out," Sam interpolated, cutting the angel off. "Not while we were at the club."

"So, freaking me out here is okay?" Dean asked.

"Better," Sam said, nodding.

Dean shrugged as if acknowledging the truth of the statement. "Okay, then what is it? What's the big secret?"

Sam and Castiel looked at each other as if deciding who would go first. Sam cleared his throat. "What do you remember about going down and getting the peanuts this evening?"

"I remember going downstairs, grabbing a can of peanuts, and coming back up again," Dean said irritably. "Why, what do you remember?"

"How long would you say it took?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, two minutes, tops."

"You were gone for more than ten," Sam replied, and Dean's brows knit.

"No way," he protested. "I was . . . I just . . ." He shook his head, his eyes going a little wild. "What are you saying?" he demanded.

"I'm saying that something else happened while you were gone, Dean," Sam said, glancing at the angel again. "Do you remember running into Cas in the hallway?"

"I . . ." Dean shook his head. "Did I?"

"You did," Castiel said. "And I realized at that time that your memory of the last several minutes had been tampered with."

Dean froze solid for a moment. Ellen gulped and glanced at Jo. Her daughter's eyes were wide, and Ellen didn't blame her. How the hell was Dean going to take this? All four of them sat waiting for the other shoe to drop. "My memory? Tampered with?"

"It has," Castiel said. "I believe it has happened on at least one other occasion."

"Monday?" Ellen asked, causing both Sam and Castiel to nod.

"Well, thank God!" Dean said, and Ellen watched the others turn towards him in shock. "I thought I was going nuts, but if it's somebody screwing with my head, it should go away when we get rid of the bastard, right?"

Ellen hoped so, but she knew it couldn't be a guarantee. It was possible that the damage had been done. She glanced at Castiel to see what he was going to say and found him looking at her. "I believe that I am coming to understand what you mean about the glass half full," he said, and she wasn't quite sure what to say to that.

Dean stared at the angel for a second, then shook his head. "There's got to be a story there, but later. Am I right?"

"It is possible," Castiel said. "But there's no way to be certain."

"Sure there is," Dean replied with a grin. "We gank the son of a bitch." He dug into his nachos. "So, what is it, so we can get rid of it and get back on the case."

"Dean . . ." Sam trailed off and bit his lip. "We think this is the case."

Dean gazed at him, blinking but not speaking for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat with a cough. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, first, Cas wants to see if he can shake today's memories loose."

Dean glanced at the angel, then back at Sam. "Nuh uh, no way, not likely. What makes you think some guy messing with my memory has to do with our case?"

"I believe it is a witch," Castiel said.

"Look, if it was our guy, which it's not, wouldn't I be dead, not . . ." He gestured toward himself. "Freaked out but physically fine?"

"I'm not sure you are," Sam said, and Dean turned startled eyes on him. "You've been walking kind of carefully the last few days, like you've got bruises and strained joints or something, and you're not that old."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, and Ellen could tell that was hitting home. Denial was a powerful force, however. "Dude, I'd know if I had strained joints," he growled. "And you'd be able to see bruises."

"We know that witches can create illusions and obfuscation. That may be why none of the witnesses describe the same man with the victims. The witch may have somehow obscured their memories."

"Or they might just be dorks. I remind you, this guy is a serial killer. If he'd targeted me, we'd know it because I'd have killed his ass when he tried to kill me."

"Regardless, someone is after you, Dean, and I believe his interest is escalating."

"Why?"

"Because he laid a trap in the basement. It was meant for another witch, but it caught Sam." This was news to Ellen. She looked at Sam who shrugged a little. Castiel continued. "If I had not come in when I did, he would have burnt to ash on the spot."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed, turning to his brother. "Sam? Why didn't you –"

"Ash?" Sam said, his eyes on the angel.

"It was meant to incinerate the target," Castiel said calmly, and Ellen suppressed her shock, not wanting to pull anyone's attention.

"You didn't mention that before," Sam said.

"You did not ask."

"I asked what it was."

"And I told you it was a trap."

"Back to the subject," Sam said, shaking himself as though to throw off his own reaction. "Dean, some guy is after you, and he's apparently determined to get you."

"Then why does he keep throwing me back?" Dean asked. "That makes no sense."

"Maybe he's playing with you," Sam suggested.

"Great, so I'm a chew toy again," Dean said.

Sam got kind of a sick look on his face and turned away, but Jo's brows knit. "You've been a chew toy before?" she asked.

"Hell hounds," Dean said, and Ellen grimaced. "Did you know," he went on in a casual tone, "that they have hell hounds actually in Hell?" Sam's head slowly turned back, but Ellen could see his hands fisting and unfisting with the tension that suddenly filled the room. "They're pretty creepy, even the puppies." Dean's eyes were fixed on some vista that only he could see, and Ellen suspected that she should be glad of that.

"Hell hounds are born?" Jo asked. Sam seemed unable or unwilling to speak. Ellen wasn't sure which.

"Yup," Dean said. He turned towards Jo. "You ever seen a mother cat teaching her kittens to hunt?"

"Sure," Jo replied. Dean shuddered, but that was enough for Ellen. She got the image without trouble. "You mean, they use damned souls?" Jo asked, sounding appalled.

Dean's expression shifted from distant dread to a brisk false cheer that Ellen couldn't blame him for. "Anyway, what are we going to do about my stalker?"

"Does anyone know any spells to remove glamours?" Ellen asked. All of them shook their heads, but Sam stood up and walked away from the table, pulling his phone out. "I know a couple of –"

"That's why your charm worked," Dean said suddenly, turning towards her. "Ellen, I could kiss you. Whatever's been watching me can't get through that hoodoo you worked."

"Okay," she said, startled by the accolade.

"Seriously, it means he can't watch me dress and undress." Ellen acknowledged this, but it made her wonder what this guy was doing with Dean when he had him alone. What had caused that flashback on Monday? She turned towards the young man, who was looking back and forth between her and Jo with some alarm. "Hey, none of that gooey stuff now," he growled. "Let's focus on ganking the bastard."

"Cas?" Sam said, beckoning to the angel.

"Sam, who are you calling at this hour?" Dean asked. He got up and crossed the room, but Sam hung up the phone and the angel vanished before he got to them. "Sam, what are you up to?"

"About six foot five?" Sam said disingenuously.

"More short jokes," Dean said darkly. "Really?"

"I didn't say anything about you being short," Sam said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I said I was tall."


	40. Chapter 40

Dean glowered up at his gargantuan brother. "Quit changing the subject. What did you send my angel out to do?"

"Your angel?" Jo exclaimed.

"Yes, my angel," Dean said, turning around to glare at her. "You got a problem with that?"

She raised her hands as if to ward him off. "Are you sure you two don't have something going on?" Jo asked.

"Yeah, I think I would have noticed," Dean said. He glanced at Ellen, and she walked over to put a hand on Jo's shoulder. Dean turned back to his brother. "Sammy, where –"

"Well, I hear you boys have gotten yourself into a hole you need me to dig you out of again." Dean whirled in utter astonishment. There was Bobby, sitting in his chair in front of Castiel. He had a bag of stuff on his lap, and Dean wondered stupidly if he thought he was moving in. Bobby wheeled over to Dean and gazed thoughtfully up at him. "You look like shit, boy," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Bobby, it's good to see you, too," he said sarcastically, even though it really was. Bobby usually had answers, or if he didn't, he had an idea of where to look for them.

"Sit your butt down and let me hear everything from the start."

"What would you call the start?" Dean asked as he went over to sit down.

"When is the first time you might have lost some minutes?" Bobby asked. "Cuz it's for damned sure that if he's done it twice, he's done it more often."

Dean shook his head. This was nuts. "I can't think of –"

Sam cleared his throat and Dean broke off, giving him a dubious look. "When you locked yourself in the storeroom," Sam said. "You seemed to think it hadn't been long, but it was like a half hour."

"What about when he was in the basement?" Ellen asked, and Dean turned towards her. "The basement here, with the little girl that no one saw."

"She was there, Ellen," Dean said. "I swear."

"He's messing with your head," Ellen pointed out.

Dean's jaw dropped. He'd . . . she'd . . . "I am going to kill that son of a bitch."

"So, which of those incidents came first?" Bobby asked.

"The storage room," Sam said.

"So, start there, and tell me what's been going on, especially what's happened when you've been alone."

"Everything?" Dean asked.

"Everything."

"I guess I'm going to need more coffee," Dean said. "And ice cream." He looked over at Sam. "Do we have any ice cream?" he asked even though he knew it had all been eaten days ago.

"I will go and get some," Castiel said, and then they heard wings.

Dean stared at the empty spot in shock for a second, then turned to Jo. "Don't say a word," he ordered. She had that incredulous look on her face, but she waved a hand to indicate she wasn't going to speak. "Bobby, if what I remember is manufactured, what's that going to tell you anyway?"

"You may have seen things you didn't think about at the time that could give us clues."

"If I didn't think about them then, why would I mention them now?"

"Because now you know that someone's screwing with your mind, so details could pop up in light of that information. Don't be dense, kid."

"I'm not . . ." Dean shook his head. "Okay, I went down to get some beer and . . ." He paused, blinking.

"And what?"

"And I don't remember . . . I moved some wine, I think." The wine was a fuzzy memory, but then he ran across a crystal clear one. "And the door shut behind him and I was stuck. My cell phone wouldn't work, and . . ." He shook his head again. That didn't make sense. He'd received calls from Cas down there on more than one occasion. "And the sasquatch came and got me out."

"Behind who?" Ellen asked. Dean blinked at her, puzzled. "You just said the door closed behind 'him.' Who is 'him'?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't . . . I don't know."

"How long were you down there?" Bobby asked.

"Sammy just said –"

"How long did you feel like you were down there?" Bobby asked. "How much time do you actually remember?"

Dean thought about the questions and gave Bobby a puzzled scowl. "Those questions have different answers. I felt like I was down there forever, but all I remember is about ten minutes."

"Subjective time is often different from –"

"I was totally freaked when Sammy came down there, and I wanted out of that room as fast as I could, and I didn't want to go back in." Dean said it all reluctantly. "I thought it was claustrophobia at the time, but I'm . . . maybe I was wrong." He didn't want to see anyone's face, so he didn't look up from the table.

"And maybe you weren't," Bobby said gently. "We won't know if you don't let us work on finding out."

Dean shook his head. "What do you want to do? Because I don't want anyone else sifting around in my head."

"Not even Cas?" Sam asked anxiously.

"Not even Cas," Dean said, grateful that the angel wasn't present. He didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he found the idea of anyone looking in his head disturbing. He still remembered Sam giving him those pathetic, anxious looks when he'd been inside Dean's dream and saw Lisa Braden's picnic. "Is there some way to break this memory block thing?"

"I don't know. What I can do is check out the strength of this glamour Sam thinks you've got on you, see if I can break it."

Dean looked down at his unmarked arms. "I'm not sure I want to show off a bunch of bruises," he said. Not to mention that the placement of the bruises would be a good hint as to the activities that had gone on during times he couldn't recall. At this moment, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened. Not if it brought up memories of . . . he shuddered.

"We have to know what's been going on, Dean," Bobby said. "Knowing how you've been hurt is a good start."

Dean looked away, and that was when he realized that everyone was staring at him. Cas he was used to, but he wasn't even here. That worried, speculative look on Sam's face as his brother watched him had grown irritating last year. And Ellen and Jo . . . "Does this have to be a spectator sport?" he demanded. "I mean, I know I'm the hottest fake gay guy in three counties, but this is ridiculous."

"Jo and I should get some rest," Ellen said. "I'll come on down around eleven to get lunch going. How's that?"

"Mom, this is important!" Jo protested.

Ellen put an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Yes, it is, and we're going upstairs."

"We have to know what happened to Dean," Jo said as they left the apartment.

"Yes, we do," Ellen said, closing the door behind them. Her voice was still audible for a moment as they went up the stairs. "And we're not going to find out as long as Dean is being so missish, and . . ."

Dean blinked. "Missish?" he repeated.

"I don't think you were supposed to hear that," Sam said.

"Am I being missish?" he demanded of Bobby and Sam.

Sam didn't respond, but Bobby rolled his eyes. "Well, you are sort of having the vapors," the old man said, and Dean's eyes widened. "Now, settle down. We do need to know what's going on."

Dean let out an exasperated sigh and tried to quell the uneasiness and fear that were twisting through his belly. "Fine, what do you need to do to break this glamour thing? Though I'm not sure why anyone would want to get rid of glamor."

The joke fell flat, in part because Sam took it seriously. "Not glamor the concept, a glamour. A spell, Dean, an illusion."

"Duh, sasquatch," Dean said, glowering at him. "I was kidding."

Sam's brows drew together and he fell silent, just watching Dean in that way that meant he was afraid his brother was broken. Dean turned back to Bobby. "So, what do we do?"

"You don't need to do anything. In fact, if you wanted to lie down and go to sleep, it might be good for you."

"Yeah, I'll just go on and sleep while you do spellcasting mumbo jumbo, that sounds like it will work."

"I could cause you to sleep," Castiel suggested, and Dean turned in surprise. The angel stood there holding a bag from Garcia's.

"Dude, they have to be closed at this hour."

"Yes." Castiel handed him the bag.

Dean looked at it. "Thanks," he said, a little nonplussed. Maybe he was being missish if he had an angel going to pick ice cream up for him from a closed store.

"But I still haven't gotten all the information from you that I want," Bobby said. "You've told me about the storeroom. What's this about a little girl in the basement here?"

Dean related that story, and as he did so, he realized how many holes and peculiarities there were in it. He found this whole situation deeply unnerving. He went on to describe what he remembered of Monday and his trip to the basement to get the peanuts. And then he started thinking about all the times he'd been alone over the past five weeks and wondering whether something hadn't happened to him then. He discovered that he was absent-mindedly rubbing a sore spot on his wrist and blinked. "You know, I could probably tell you where the bruises were, even if we can't undo the glamour or whatever."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

Dean let go of his wrist. "I can feel them." He began to palpate his arm gingerly. "Like, I think there's a big one right here," he said, poking at his skin about halfway up his forearm. "Ow."

"Don't poke it, you idjit," Bobby growled. Dean jerked his hand back and glared. "Lie your ass down on the bed, let Cas make you sleep and I'll do my mojo. We'll see what we can do."

"Why do I have to be asleep?"

"Because you look like you're going to fall down."

Great, another person thinking he was weak. "I'm not. I'm fine!"

"Not because you're weak, because you're tired," Bobby said placatingly.

Dean shot to his feet, irritated to realize that he was so transparent. "I've got to go to the bathroom!" he growled, and he stomped across the apartment.

Before he got there, Sam called after him. "You'd better be out of there in five minutes."

Dean whirled. "Yeah? Or what?"

"Or I'm coming in to make sure you haven't had a flashback," Sam said, and his voice was calm, his expression just barely worried.

Dean stared at his brother for a second, then went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Sam winced when Dean slammed the door. He turned to Bobby, starting to ask him what they needed to do for the spell, but then they both heard a loud thump from the bathroom. Sam started to hurry over there, but Bobby forestalled him. "Don't, he just punched the wall."

Coming to a stop, Sam turned back towards Bobby. At that moment, Castiel disappeared, and Sam snorted, knowing exactly what the angel was up to.

"Where the hell is he going?" Bobby asked. "We need him."

"He's gone to the bathroom," Sam replied.

Bobby's eyes narrowed, then he glanced towards the closed door. "Dean hasn't yelled yet."

Sam had to fight back mild hysteria. "He can go invisible."

Bobby's jaw dropped. Sam walked over and grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap off, and brought it back to offer their father's oldest surviving friend. "Thanks," Bobby said, taking a swallow.

"If you think I'm being paranoid, just think about the way Cas is acting," Sam said. "This is the angel who told Dean he didn't have time to follow him around and protect him. Now he's stealing ice cream for him because he says he needs some." Abruptly, Sam grabbed the ice cream and carried it through into the kitchen. Dean would freak if it melted. He grabbed two more beers, one for himself and one for Dean. "When you've already got a bad feeling about something, and an angel tells you he has a bad feeling about the same thing, it tends to make you feel like you're on the right track."

"I guess," Bobby said. "So, have you seen this mystery guy?"

"Who knows?" Sam replied. "I've seen lots of guys. For all I know, he was sitting at the bar last night while I served drinks."

The bathroom door slammed open and Dean looked around. "Okay, two things," he said. "One, I think I know who the trap was set for. Cas, come out from wherever you're hiding."

Castiel emerged from the bathroom, looking not the least bit embarrassed. "Dude! Personal. Space. The bathroom is personal space. The bathroom is always personal space."

"I have observed you urinating before," Castiel said calmly. Dean gaped at him, seeming speechless. "And you urinate in public spaces."

"That's different!" Dean exclaimed. "Dudes don't watch."

"I didn't watch you urinate," Castiel said, and Dean's eyebrows went up. "I merely remained present in case you had a flashback or similar occurrence."

Dean stared at him in silent outrage for a moment, but Bobby cleared his throat, capturing everyone's attention. "You said you think you know who the trap was set for?"

"Yeah," Dean said, giving Cas a sidelong glare before continuing. "There are two circumstances under which I don't feel watched. When I'm in this apartment, and when I'm with Cas. I'm betting he thinks Cas is another witch, because I doubt he's in the know about angels."

"So you think the spell was set for Cas?" Sam asked.

"Yeah."

Sam turned to Castiel. "Would you have triggered it?"

"Yes, but it would not have harmed me."

"Okay, that makes sense," Bobby said. "You said two things. What's the other?"

Dean paused, looking irresolute. He walked across, picked up the beer Sam had waiting for him and down a good half of it. "I don't know if there's any connection, but about a week before I locked myself in the liquor store room, I had another weird incident down there."

"What kind of weird incident?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at him, and Sam knew something was wrong. Dean turned towards Bobby. "I'm not sure I can talk about this in front of Sammy."

"Excuse me?" Sam exclaimed.

"What can't you talk about in front of Sam?" Castiel asked.

Dean glanced his way, and Sam shook his head. "Dean, you know you can tell me anything."

"Oh yeah, because your little freak out yesterday really told me that."

Sam blinked at him and glanced over at Castiel. "I'm over that," he said, thought it wasn't really true. Finding out that Dean had occasionally found guys attractive did sort of rock his foundations. Dad was a strict bastard, Dean was a horndog and Sam was . . . well, those were two of the pillars of his life. "Anyway, what happened?"

Dean took another long pull on his beer and shrugged. "A guy followed me down there and made a pretty aggressive pass at me."

Sam had some trouble with Dean's calm regarding this 'aggressive' pass from a guy, but he kept that reaction internal. Bobby gazed thoughtfully at Dean. "Define aggressive," he said.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, he . . ." Dean glanced at Sam and colored. "It's different with gay guys. The ones who are aggressive are way more aggressive than guys are with chicks."

"What do you mean?" Sam demanded, losing control of his tongue. "Did he assault you? And you never said anything?"

"No!" Dean exclaimed. "He didn't assault me, he was just . . ." He shook his head, giving Sam a faintly alarmed look. "I can't talk about this in front of him."

"Sam, sit down and zip it!" Bobby ordered. "Keep your mouth shut, and we can talk later if we have to. Okay?" Sam nodded, sitting down and biting his lips together.

"I'll know what he's thinking," Dean protested.

"Get over it. You're both grown men, last I checked. Cope. What did this guy do?"

Dean glanced at Sam, and then he put all his attention on Bobby. "He grabbed my arms and . . . and he kissed me."

"He kissed you?" Bobby repeated. "Is that it?" Sam wanted to ask if it wasn't enough, but he kept his jaw tightly shut. Dean didn't need him freaking out right now. He needed a calm, supportive brother.

Dean shrugged. "Sort of. I mean, it was really intense, and I get this weird feeling when I think about it, but . . ." He grimaced. "I went down to the basement, and this guy followed me down. I told him he wasn't supposed to be down there, but he didn't say anything, he just . . . he just came over to me, and when I tried to tell him I wasn't interested, he grabbed my wrists and pushed me up against the wall, and he kissed me. For a while."

"I see," Bobby said, but Sam didn't. He glanced over at Castiel to see if he had an opinion. The angel stood stoically, his attention on Dean.

"Why didn't you stop him?" Sam demanded.

Dean glared at him. "Because to stop him at that point I would have had to really hurt him, and that wouldn't have been in keeping with my cover," he said.

"Really? Because that sounds an awful lot like assault to me."

"Among guys like I'm pretending to be, that's just a really serious come-on, Sammy," Dean said. "Like an intense hello. If he hadn't stopped after I'd told him I wasn't interested – after the kiss – then it would have been assault."

"Okay, I get that," Bobby said, shooting Sam a glance to keep him quiet. Sam subsided, not sure he was going to be able to keep his peace if this got any weirder.

Dean pursed his lips, looking embarrassed. "No, I don't think you do. See, I kind of got into it. I mean, he was hot, and he was a good kisser, but I'm not sure . . . I just get a funny feeling when I think about him, and it's not a good funny feeling."

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

"The incident itself wasn't a big deal, Sammy, I just . . . I don't know. I get this weird feeling in my stomach when I think about it."

Bobby opened his mouth, but then he paused, glancing at Sam. Sam looked away, irritated by this whole situation. Bobby sighed and turned back to Dean. "Like turned on?" he asked. "Or turned off?"

Dean shrugged. "Kinda both," he said, looking uncomfortable.

"What did the guy look like?" Bobby asked.

"I don't know," Dean said. "A guy."

"Dean, I know you can be more specific than that," Bobby said.

Dean moistened his lips. "Okay. Um . . . tall. Sasquatch tall. Forty-ish, dark hair with a little gray at the temples. Dressed like a real guy, not some pansy, and . . ." Dean shivered, and Sam wondered why. "Brown eyes. He was watching me for half the evening before he followed me down the stairs." Dean blinked. "Watching me . . ."

"If it's the same guy, he's been watching you ever since," Sam said. "Did you take a picture of him?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I had my hands full of tray, and . . ." He shook his head more fervently. "This is really creeping me out."

"Good," Sam said emphatically. "It's creepy! You've got a witch stalking you, and as to why he hasn't killed you, I don't know. Maybe he wants to play with you for a while." Dean's eyes widened, and Sam tilted his head. "What?"

"Nothing . . . I don't . . ." Dean shook his head, but he looked kind of freaked.

"Dean, just tell us," Sam said.

"Felix." It seemed very anti-climactic but Dean still seemed extremely unsettled. He shuddered. "I don't know why, but when you said that about him playing with me, the name Felix came into my head." Sam thought his brother looked mightily disturbed.

Sam shook his head. "What's the connection between –"

"Felix the Cat," Bobby said, and Sam turned to him, vaguely remembering a theme song about a bag of tricks. "Sounds like we may have the right idea, then." Dean looked away. His shoulders were really tense. "So, you ready to try for the loss of your glamour?" Bobby asked, and Dean shrugged stiffly. "You think you can hold still for a couple of hours, or should we have Castiel put you to sleep?"

"In the non-euthanasia sense," Sam said, seeing Dean about to object.

Dean scowled at him and shrugged. "Fine, since you all want me unconscious, who am I to object?" He stood up and walked over to the bed, stripping off his clothes. "I suppose you'll want to be able to see my skin when the glamour comes off, so let me make that possible." He stripped to his briefs and Sam saw Bobby raise an eyebrow. Dean glowered. "I draw the line there. If you need to look there, you can wake me the hell up." He looked over at Cas. "You hear me, Cas? Unless it's life threatening, you don't let them look at anything they can't see right now while I'm asleep. Got it?"

"I understand," Castiel said.

"Do you agree?" Dean countered.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "I agree, Dean."

Dean flopped down on the bed and pulled up the covers. "Good night all."

Castiel walked around the bed and touched Dean's forehead. Then he stood back. "Is there something I can do to help you, Bobby?" he asked.

"Not really. The best thing you and Sam could do is stay out of my hair."

Cas looked for a second like he was going to ask why he'd be in Bobby's hair, but then he just seemed to dismiss the issue. "I can do that."

"What about you, Sam? Or am I going to have to have the angel put you to sleep? You look almost as bad as Dean does."

"What do you expect?" Sam demanded. "I've been trying to keep an eye on him, but he won't really let me."

"Well, you've got help. Go lie down on the sofa, and if you can't sleep, let Cas know and he'll take care of it." Bobby glanced over at the angel. "Right?"

"Yes," Castiel said.

Sam grimaced, but he went and lay down, wrapping a blanket around himself. The couch seemed to suck him in, and he fell quickly to sleep.


	41. Chapter 41

The spell, including prep, took three hours. Bobby was grateful that both boys had agreed to sleep through the process. It was long, boring and neither one of them had much patience. Castiel was silent throughout, and it didn't take Bobby too long to get used to the idea that the angel was standing there, silently watching.

He opened his eyes, put out the candles and turned on the bedside lamp. Dean was on his stomach in his usual sprawl, the blanket covering most of him. Bobby rolled forward towards the head of the bed and was aware of the angel coming up behind him. He pulled the covers back just to the middle of Dean's back and stared in dismay at the hickeys that were visible on Dean's neck. His arms were hugging a pillow, and Bobby could see bruises all over them, some of them in very suggestive shapes.

"Well, there's no question about it now," Bobby said. "He's been sexually assaulted." He looked up at Castiel. "If you roll him over, will he wake up?"

"He will not," Castiel said. He leaned over and gently disengaged Dean's arms from the pillow, turning him onto his back. More bruises, more hickeys, one on his pectoral muscle, and Bobby began to think he'd have to check Dean for signs of actual rape. Dean would undoubtedly object, and Bobby wasn't sure he could convince Castiel to go along with it.

He looked up at the angel. "I need to look . . . I need to examine –"

"Do whatever you need to do," Castiel said.

"But you agreed not to let me," Bobby replied, knowing that he might be scuttling his own argument, but Castiel met his gaze squarely.

"I agreed not to if I didn't think it was life-threatening."

Bobby stared for a second, then started laughing. "Looks like the Jesuits come by it honestly."

Castiel gave an infinitesimal shrug. "Do you need my aid?"

Bobby explained what he wanted to do, and they looked Dean over with care. There was no sign of penetration, so Bobby replaced Dean's underwear and was grateful that he wouldn't have to explain that incident to Dean. "We don't need to mention that to Dean," he said, glancing up at Castiel.

"I do not see what would be gained by distressing him unnecessarily," Castiel replied.

Bobby nodded and covered Dean up. He rubbed his forehead. "Who is this bastard?"

"If I knew, he would no longer be a threat," Castiel said with a grim tone that made Bobby look askance at him. "Do you wish to return to your home, or do you wish to stay?"

"I think I'd better stay," he said. "At least for now."

The door to the apartment opened, and Ellen walked in quietly. Her entrance still woke Sam, but Bobby would have been surprised if the boy slept through the door opening like that. In fact, he couldn't help glancing at Dean, despite the fact that he knew the boy couldn't wake.

Sam rose instantly. One look at the door told him that there was no threat, so he headed straight for the bed. "Did you do it? Is the glamour gone?"

Bobby nodded. "It is, and I've looked him over. He's been –"

Without waiting, Sam hurried up and flipped the blanket back, stopping to stare at the bruises and other marks. Bobby grimaced. He somehow doubted that Dean wanted all of that shown to Ellen, but it was a little late to stop it now. "Son of a bitch!" Sam growled. "I'll kill the bastard. Send him straight to Hell. No wonder Dean's been taking showers every twenty minutes for the last week."

Bobby looked down at Dean and said, "Sam, why don't you cover him back up? I'm sure he's got to be cold."

Sam blanched and immediately draped the blanket back over Dean's body. Then he started fussily tucking him in. After a second or two, Bobby growled, "Cut that out!"

Sam jumped, took a step back and crossed his arms so tightly that his hands wound up tucked in the opposite armpits. He looked sullen, and his eyes were on a bit of Dean's blanket that had been pulled askew by his sudden retreat. Castiel leaned forward and straightened it, tucking it neatly in. "Don't you start!" Bobby snapped. "Now, we need to figure out our next move."

"My next move is to take Dean down to the Impala and get the hell out of Salt Lake City," Sam said.

"I agree," Castiel said. "Dean and Sam should leave. I will remain, hunt out the witch and kill him." The angel turned to Sam. "We should leave immediately. You can return for the car, or Ellen and Jo can bring it on. Once you are at a safe distance, I will return and deal with the witch."

Ellen stared at both of them for a moment, then started laughing. Both the angel and the young man turned affronted eyes on her. "You boys are crazy," she said. "Dean won't put up with it."

"Dean cannot stop us."

"Yeah, but the minute he wakes up and find out what you've done, he'll steal a car and come straight back here."

"Besides, we think the witch is fixated on him," Bobby said. "If we're right, this guy has had hold of Dean five times in the last three weeks. You take Dean out of here, he's just going to follow him. We'd be better off dealing with him now." Sam shook his head, and Bobby fixed him with a glare. "Don't be an idjit. You know how Dean will react if you pull something like what you're talking about." He turned to Castiel. "Do you really want him to stop sharing any of his plans with you? Because I guarantee you, this is one way to ensure that."

Ellen glanced at her watch. "All right, it's seven a.m. Dean needs several hours more sleep, and so does Sam. Dean is safe enough here. From Dean's reactions, we know that the witch can't watch him in here."

"He's been in the building, Ellen," Sam protested.

Ellen paused, blinking. "Yes, well, that's a creepy thought. But Castiel's not leaving, is he?"

"I am not," Castiel replied.

"So, Dean will be safe for now. Sam, climb in with your brother and get some more sleep. We'll all need our rest if we're going to get this dealt with properly."

Sam did as she said, Bobby was amused to see. Maybe they'd have to keep Ellen around if she could get Sam to behave himself. Then he saw how carefully Sam drew his brother into his arms and guessed there might be another cause for his agreement.

He wheeled to the top of the short flight of three steps that led to the raised area where the bed resided and waited pointedly for his companions to notice that he was trapped. After a moment, Castiel turned back and lifted the entire wheelchair down the steps. It made Bobby feel kind of weird, but he once he was on the floor, he disregarded it and wheeled across to the dining table. "I don't need any damned sleep," he muttered to Ellen.

"No, you need to do research."

Bobby shook his head uneasily. "The last witch the boys and I encountered – let's just say we got out with our skins, but we had help we can't count on this time, and the witch is still going strong."

"Bobby!" Ellen exclaimed, looking startled. "What happened?"

Bobby shrugged. "Dean got to discover what it's like to be older than he ever thought he'd be." He snorted mirthlessly. "So did I, for that matter. Sam beat the bastard at poker, we all got back our years, and he went on his merry way." Ellen gave him an incredulous stare, but before she could expostulate, Bobby held up a hand. "It was all my fault. Sam and Dean played only because I was an idjit. Anyway, my point is, I'm not sure I'm the best person to go to when you're dealing with a witch."

"Suck it up, Bobby, you're what we've got," Ellen snapped quietly. "Meanwhile, I guarantee you, Dean is going to insist on working tonight. Jo is off, so I vote we all head over to the club to keep an eye on things."

"Oh, yeah, they're going to welcome me into a dance club," Bobby replied.

"I'm sure it will be fine, Bobby. They have a bar, too. Now, get going with your research." Bobby nodded ironically at her, stopping short of saluting. She fixed Castiel with a glare that the angel seemed to decode without trouble and then left again, presumably get some sleep of her own.

Bobby settled down with a computer he guessed had to be Dean's from the classic car photo on the wallpaper and called up the internet.

* * *

Dean awoke feeling warm and comfortable. He opened his eyes and found that he was nestled Sam's arms, his head under his brother's chin. Sammy hadn't been this snuggly since he was six or seven. Dean rolled his eyes. "You have really turned into a cuddle-monster these days, Sammy," he muttered, pulling gently away so as not to awaken his brother. He flipped the covers back and got out of bed, turning towards the dining room as he did so. He seized the blanket and yanked it up in front of himself when he saw the crowd around the dining table. They were all looking at him. "Bobby, hi," he said, glancing at the three of them, grateful that there were only the three of them. "Ellen, Cas. At least –" Then the refrigerator door closed and there was Jo, a carton of milk in her hand. Her eyes widened. "Jo, too. Fabulous. The gang's all here."

He looked over as Sam sat up and caught sight of his right arm out of the corner of his eye. There were bruises all up and down, and a group of them even looked like fingers. "Son of a bitch!" He looked at his other arm and found the same situation. "Ow!" he said feelingly.

"You could feel them before," Bobby said, wheeling away from the table and coming towards him. "Why are you just now saying ow?"

Dean shrugged. "They actually seem to hurt more," he said. Sam got up, and Dean saw that he, at least, was wearing sweats. Every movement hurt and he grimaced. "I hardly see how this is an improvement," he said, wrapping the blanket around himself.

"Well, at least now we know what's been done to you," Bobby said, and he looked like he was going to say something more. Sam had that pathetic look on his face, and Jo looked frankly appalled. Ellen and Cas were the only ones who seemed calm, and Cas always seemed calm unless he was too pissed to see straight.

Before Bobby could speak, Dean barked, "Coffee! When I get out of the bathroom, there'd better be coffee." He turned and marched towards the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster wrapped in a thermal blanket and slammed the door shut behind him. He heard the beginning of a question from Jo and immediately turned on the shower so he wouldn't be able to hear them discussing him.

He looked at himself in the mirror and stared in shock, dropping the blanket to pool around his feet. He had hickeys. Big, honkin' hickeys on his neck and chest, and there were bruises just about everywhere. He had clearly been pretty thoroughly manhandled. He peeled off his shorts and looked at his ass where he'd been feeling a little tender for a few days and saw handprints.

At that moment, the door opened, admitting Sam, and Dean glowered at his brother. Sam, for his part, stopped in the doorway for a second, then came in and slammed it behind him. "Dean, what the hell?"

"What are you doing in here?" Dean demanded.

"I thought you might like some clothes for when you come out again, but . . ." Sam's eyes were fixed on Dean's butt.

"Thanks, now get out," Dean ordered.

Sam's eyes snapped. "Don't be such a girl, Dean," he growled. "Let me get a look at that."

Dean drew back, hurt. "I am not being a girl," he said, but when Sam started looking him over, he didn't try to stop him. "Look, I'm kind of doing the full Monty here, so can we get this –"

"You're going to need liniment," Sam said clinically.

"I am not rubbing liniment on my ass," Dean snarled, yanking the shower curtain open.

"We've done it before, Dean," Sam said.

Dean knew that. He could remember any number of occasions when he'd needed liniment on bruises in some fairly bizarre places, but he shook his head. "This is different," he said, and ground his teeth when his voice shook.

"Bruises are bruises, Dean!" Sam snapped. Dean shook his head again and started to speak, but Sam took a step closer. "Look, you want me to not freak out about all this, you want me to not overreact, and I'm being very calm. I'm being very rational, considering that my brother has been sexually assaulted." Dean blinked at him, a little startled by the vehemence and the choice of words. His expression earnest and tense, Sam took a deep breath. "You're using the liniment!"

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said placatingly. "But I'm going to take a shower first."

"Sure." Sam showed no signs of leaving.

"I can do this part on my own."

Sam shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean. You've been doing the compulsive cleaning thing, and I have a suspicion it's nothing to do with Hell."

Dean looked at himself in the mirror again and shook his head. "Sammy, I do not need company."

"I'm not leaving," Sam said, sitting down on the toilet. "You wouldn't want something like Tuesday morning to happen with everyone here like this, would you?"

Dean stared at his brother for a second, then got into the shower and started getting cleaned up. He heard Sammy start rummaging through the first aid kit, but as he washed his body, he kept finding new bruises or hickeys. His wrists were almost solid bruise, like he'd fought against something broad encircling them. He looked down at his ankles and found that they, too, were bruised like that. He'd been restrained in that way before, he remembered, only in Hell it was pointless to fight the restraints. They penetrated flesh and bone – or the representations of the soul that resembled flesh and bone, at any rate. Fighting them just ripped you apart faster. He rubbed at his wrist despite the pain he was causing himself, and reality slipped away.

_A spike rammed through his left wrist. Dean bit through his lip to keep from screaming. Alastair clicked the cuff around the joint, a mere secondary restraint to keep him in place once the spike was no longer effective. "Dean, Dean, Dean," the demon murmured, shaking his head and bending close to Dean's face. "You could save yourself so much pain if you would simply agree to my proposition."_

_Dean stared at the visage before him with loathing and fear so intermingled that it was no longer possible to separate the emotions. "No." Dean had begun to hate the sensation of being whole and himself again, not because it was unpleasant, but because of what inevitably followed it. He heard the second cuff being prepared, the chain rattling, and tensed. Alastair's hand, claws outstretched, stroked down Dean's arm, little lines of blood springing up beneath the razor edges. Dean ground his teeth. When he reached the wrist, Alastair jerked Dean's arm up and slammed it onto the spike. Dean grunted, he couldn't help it, and the little demons who held him in position laughed. He suffered pinches and pokes from them, but they knew better than to draw blood without permission. He'd seen one ripped to shreds by hellhounds for that crime, the other demons lapping up his blood and pain like ambrosia while Alastair had continued to work on Dean._

_A real human body could only feel so much pain before everything began to blur together, but Hell was different. In Hell, there was no blacking out because the pain had grown too much, no whiteout where individual sensations could no longer be felt. Each new pain added to the last in a never-ending crescendo, and it was not possible to get used to it. He heard the cuff close and the demons holding him from beneath released his body to fall suspended from the cuffs, his whole weight dangling from the spikes through his wrists._


	42. Chapter 42

"Dean, are you all right?" Sam asked when the noises Dean was making failed to change after several minutes. Showering was an activity comprised of many different tasks, all of which made different noises. Sam stood up. "Dean?" Abruptly, his brother collapsed to his knees, and Sam ripped the curtain open so vigorously that two of the rings tore out of their reinforced plastic holes. Dean was still covered with soap, so Sam turned off the shower, letting the water pour into the tub from the lower faucet. He grabbed the plastic cup they'd been using for toothpaste water and ran it full and started rinsing his brother off. Dean was hunched over, rocking slightly, and Sam wished he could broil this bastard alive for what he'd done to Dean. Nevertheless, he kept talking to his brother, maintaining a calm, reassuring tone as best he could.

Once he'd rinsed all the soap off, he turned off the water and draped a towel over Dean's shoulders. Giving Dean's head a quick rub to dry the hair, he went to the door and peered out. The others were gathered around the table, and Cas had actually unbent enough to sit down. "Cas, could you give me a hand here?" he asked. The angel arose instantly and crossed the room.

"What's happened?" Ellen asked, coming to her feet.

Sam shrugged. "Another flashback, I think," he said. "We'll be out soon."

Castiel had slipped past him into the bathroom while Sam spoke to Ellen, so when Sam turned around and closed the door again, he found that Castiel was gazing at Dean with an unreadable expression. "I can't get him out of it," Sam said. "But we have to dry him off and get him dressed or he'll freeze."

Castiel nodded, and together they supported Dean through the process. Dean wasn't precisely limp, but it took the two of them to guide him out of the tub, dry his body and dress him. By the time they were done, Dean was starting to come to himself again. He jerked away from Sam, but Castiel caught and held him when he would have struggled. "Dean!" Sam said urgently. "It's me, Sam." Dean stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Sam, Dean?" He gulped. "Sammy. Dean, it's Sammy."

"Sammy?" Dean murmured, some sense coming back into his expression. He jerked a little against the arms that held him. "Who –" He didn't finish the question, Sam wasn't sure why, but the meaning was clear enough.

"Castiel, Dean. It's Sam and Castiel. It's okay, you're safe."

Dean's eyes closed in apparent relief, and Sam looked over his brother's shoulder into Castiel's eyes. He'd rarely done that. The angel had always intimidated him, even before the death of Lilith. Afterwards . . . it had taken him a while to feel comfortable talking to Castiel again. The depth of pain he saw in Castiel's blue eyes made his stomach twist. Cas cared at least as much for Dean as Sam himself did, but then Ellen had said the angel had been watching Dean since conception. That made for a pretty close connection if the observer had any feelings at all, and it was patently obvious that the claim that angels felt nothing was absurd.

"Dean?" Sam said, and his brother looked at him again. "You ready to go out in the living room?"

Dean blinked at him, and more sense was coming into his eyes all the time. He straightened, and then he flushed, pulling away from Castiel before turning his back on them and to rubbing his hands over his face. "Maybe I should start taking baths," he said. "Harder to fall over when you're already lying down."

Sam shook his head. "You just need a spotter in the shower for a while. I can do that, Dean." Sam saw his brother's shoulders stiffen and moved forward impulsively. "Let me help you, Dean."

"What about the liniment?" Dean asked, looking down at his clothes.

"You were shivering," Sam said. "I thought warmth was more important for the time being."

Dean nodded slowly. "Is . . . everybody still out there?" he asked, glancing towards the bathroom door.

"Yeah."

"And I'm guessing, since you had go out there to ask to Cas to come in, that they know something happened."

Sam saw straight to the point of Dean's question. "There is nothing to be embarrassed about Dean," he said intently. "You have a lot to contend with, no one will judge you."

"Oh yeah, Sammy?" Dean asked, turning around, his customary snarky smile on his face. "Why not? It seems pretty clear that Zachariah is right. I'm a pathetic specimen of humanity, a mess and a joke."

"Zachariah is a dick with wings," Castiel said in his deadpan voice. "He knows nothing of import about you."

Sam shook his head. "Zachariah isn't to be believed, Dean," he said firmly. "He's got reasons for running you down that have more to do with controlling you than with anything else."

"I can't even hold up against a simple case of sexual assault."

"Okay, assuming this was a simple case of sexual assault, you would be perfectly justified in freaking out, but this . . . this is not remotely a simple case," Sam retorted. "This guy hasn't just attacked your body, he's attacked your mind and your sense of . . . I don't know, not just security but any kind of control over your own . . . he's hitting you in so many places that it's hard to count them all. I mean . . . Dean, this guy is bringing up memories of even worse atrocities than what he himself is doing."

Dean shook his head, and Sam could tell he wasn't hearing anything, that he was doing that crazy comparing himself to Dad again, based on stupid criteria that were mostly not even true. He started to speak, not even really looking at Sam. "Sammy, you don't even know what you're –"

"Alastair never even saw Dad!" Sam said suddenly, and Dean's eyes sharpened on his. "He wasn't even in Hell the whole time Dad was down there."

"What the . . . where the Hell is this coming from?" Dean demanded.

"I asked Cas," Sam replied, nodding at the angel, who turned to meet Dean's startled gaze. "He told me he was off on some mission elsewhere the whole time Dad was in Hell."

"He was sure Johnny on the spot when I got there," Dean replied.

"That is because you are the righteous man," Castiel said, and Sam bit his lip, recalling how poorly Dean had reacted to that remark the last time Sam had said it. Dean just gave Cas an irritated look and didn't comment. "He returned specifically to oversee your torture and ensure the breaking of the First Seal."

Sam wasn't sure he'd have put it that bluntly. Dean sort of rocked back on his heels, but he didn't seem to unglue. "But he said –"

"He said that to freak you out, Dean," Sam said. "He thought it would get to you, and it did."

There was a knock on the door, and all three of them looked towards it. "Dean?" It was Jo's voice. "There's someone here to see you."

"Who?" Sam asked.

Dean pushed past them both and went out into the living room, and Sam was glad he'd picked one of Dean's few turtlenecks to dress him in. Sam followed him out of the bathroom and saw a woman standing near the door with a plate in her hands. Shockingly enough, given that she was Dean's friend, she was pretty. Her brown hair was tied back in a neat braid, and she looked roughly thirty to Sam's eyes. She seemed uneasy as she glanced around at all the people in the room. Dean walked straight for her. "Danica, how are you?" he said in welcome. "How nice to see you."

"I didn't mean to intrude," she said, glancing at the bathroom door with a puzzled look on her face.

"We were trying to figure out what was wrong with the sink," Dean said instantly, and her puzzlement cleared up. Sam knew he shouldn't be, but he was startled by Dean's easy, plausible lie. Sam had to be prepared for the lying thing, had to be playing a character. It came so naturally to Dean that it was kind of scary, but he supposed that went back to what Ellen had said about Dean having to keep things going when they were kids. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"I wanted to thank you for your help, but if you're having some kind of party –"

"This is _not_ a party," Dean said firmly, walking forward and taking the plate she had in her hands. "Chocolate chip! I knew I liked you." He put an arm around her. "Everyone, this is Danica, she's a lovely lady I met a couple weeks ago. Danica, this is my Aunt Ellen, my Uncle Bobby." He paused and added an aside. "They're not married, they're actually on opposite sides of the family." Gesturing towards Jo, he said, "And this is my cousin Jo, she's Ellen's daughter."

"Hi," Danica said. She gulped visibly and looked like she was contemplating escape.

"And these two reprobates are my good friend Cas and my brother Sam."

She smiled at them and shook hands. "Your brother is very heroic," she said to Sam, and he repressed the inevitable irritation that came in response to that comment.

"So I've heard," Sam said.

"Heroic?" Bobby asked.

"He saved me from muggers," Danica said, and then she turned to Dean. "I just wanted to thank you, and I brought you some cookies, but if this is a family reunion, I don't want to intrude."

"It's not a reunion, and you're not intruding. Please, come in, join us. We were just going to order pizza, weren't we?"

Ellen smiled. "I already called," she said. "Danica, please, do come in."

She allowed herself to be persuaded, and it was weird, all of them keeping to normal behavior. Dean looked at the clock and Sam saw him remember his appointment with the cop from the day before. He walked over and spoke quietly in Dean's ear. "He called while you were in the shower. I told him you were sick and would call him back. The number's on the corkboard."

Dean blinked at him. "Thanks, Sammy."

They had pizza, ate cookies, and generally acted like ordinary people. The one of them with the least practice at that did the best at it, of course, Dean being the life of the party. After all, it enabled him to avoid any further conversation that might make him uncomfortable.

They were relaxing with coffee when Dean suddenly looked over at Jo. "Hey, Jo, you're a girl."

Jo's eyes widened, and she let out an incredulous laugh. "Yeah, I am," she said, giving her mother an amused look. "What of it?"

"You could show Danica how to protect herself."

Jo's eyes widened, and she turned towards Danica. "Sure I could," she said. "Would you like me to?"

Danica looked startled. "I don't know, I don't want to put anyone out."

"I wouldn't mind at all," Jo said. "I'm not sure today is the best –"

Danica glanced at the clock. "Oh, no, it's not. I've got to go or I'll miss my bus."

Jo stood up. "Why don't I walk you down to the stop? We can talk on the way."

"Sure."

Dean followed them to the door, but Jo firmly rejected his attempt to accompany them. He turned around and came back to the table, looking mildly disgruntled.

"So, Dean, you've gotten a look at yourself now," Bobby said. "You want to talk about what happened?"

"I don't know what happened," Dean replied, and Sam noticed that he was rubbing his wrist.

"Dean?" he said.

"What?" Dean asked, turning towards him. Sam gestured towards his own wrist, and Dean looked down. He jerked his hand away and shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know what happened," he said again, a little more loudly.

"Is there a common thread to your flashbacks?" Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged, looking far from easy. "I talk too much about them and I start having them, and I don't want to go there again. Already had one today, don't need another." He grimaced and shrugged. "And there're some things that just aren't for sharing."

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean shook his head curtly. "I gave you the bare bones of what happened in Hell. That's as far as it goes."

"That's not good enough," Bobby said, and Dean went very still. Sam watched in alarm and hope – and silence. Maybe Dean would take that from Bobby. Sam knew that he'd pushed as hard as he could himself. Any more from him and Dean would shut down altogether.

"What?" Dean asked, his voice very flat and unusually quiet. It was a dangerous tone, and Sam didn't dare move. His eyes darted to Bobby, though, to see if he recognized what shaky ground he was treading on. He just looked solemn and intent. Castiel was a stone statue of an angel, and Ellen sat still as a mouse.

"Dean, I know this isn't easy, but –"

"Wait half a second there," Dean said, his eyes narrowed with anger. "You know?" he asked with a calm fury that made Sam quake internally. "What do you know?"

If Dean had said that, had used that tone in answer to a question from Sam, he would have folded up and stopped trying. Bobby was either foolhardy or he was made of sterner stuff. "I know that I can't possibly know what it was like for you down there," Bobby replied. "There isn't a man or woman on earth who can know what it was like, and your PTSD is bigger than anyone else's. That's a great big duh!" Dean had gone white and speechless. Sam didn't know whether to cheer Bobby on or clap a hand over his mouth. Ellen seemed to be similarly frozen, and he couldn't get a read on Cas at all. Sam just hoped that Jo would stay gone for a few more minutes, because the sound of the door would break the fragile equilibrium Bobby had built. "And walling it up inside has worked pretty well so far. You haven't broken down or fallen apart, so I wasn't going to push you."

Dean had withdrawn into himself. It was weird. He hadn't really moved significantly, his shoulders might have rounded a little, his head dropped slightly, but the essence that was Dean had grown as small as it could. The force of Dean's personality usually filled slightly more space than his body could, but right now, he might as well have become a black hole, everything sinking in to a blazing white core of pain. Sam wanted to stop Bobby, not sure this was at all the right tack to take with Dean, but he found he couldn't move. The tension in the room held him taut as a bowstring.

"Bobby, I'm not sure –" Ellen's voice was quiet and tentative, but when Dean spoke she broke off.

"When we get this prick to stop messing with my head, it will all go back to the way it was. Cas said so."

"I said it was possible," Castiel clarified. "It is equally possible that it will not."

"Frankly, it's more likely the latter," Bobby said. "When shit like this gets knocked loose, it doesn't tuck neatly back away again. All respect to Castiel, but he's an angel. He ain't used to dealing with human emotions." Castiel shrugged slightly, admitting the truth of the statement. "You may have to face some of it to get past it."

Dean closed his eyes. "This isn't a crappy week, Bobby," he ground out. "This isn't even being tortured for thirty years by the Viet Cong. This is Hell. It isn't something you _face_ so your life can go back to normal. It's something you bury as deep as you can for as long as you can and try to ignore."

"And while that was working, I was good with it, but at the moment it's not. You could run into this bastard tomorrow and if you freeze, you're screwed."

"Literally," Dean said, and Sam wasn't sure whether he was trying to lighten the mood or what. If that was his intent, it failed dismally.

"The real point, I think," Ellen said hesitantly, "is that we need to see if we can find a commonality to the flashbacks you've had that will give us a hint as to what this man is doing to you."

"I think the bruises are a subtle hint to that," Dean growled. "I've been tied up, groped and sucked on. Big whoop." Sam could tell that Dean wasn't as casual about that as he sounded. His hand had crept back to his wrist and was rubbing it in a way that just had to hurt. "I don't remember anything beyond a long, intense kiss. As far as Monday goes, my memory after going to the diner might as well have been scooped out. The other times it was just replaced by not quite enough stuff." He shook his head, his lips twitching into a rictus suggestive of unpleasant thought. "I don't know what could have called up the flashbacks. If he'd done most of what . . . most of that, no hospital on earth could have brought me back."

No one seemed to know what to say to that. After several long seconds of eternity, Sam cleared his throat and gestured again to his own wrist. Dean turned and glared at him, fisting his hands and rising sharply to his feet. "I don't want to talk about it, Bobby. I don't even want to talk about talking about it." He strode over and grabbed his coat. "I'm going for a walk and then I'm coming back and getting ready for work."

"Not alone," Castiel said, also rising.

"Yes alone!" Dean snapped. "I need some solo time to get my head together. I'm only not going for a drive because Sammy's right. If I had a flashback behind the wheel, it . . . would not be good."

Sam grimaced. Dean deciding not to drive. It made him even angrier at Alastair and this prick, Felix or whoever he was. Nevertheless, Dean couldn't go out by himself, not right now. He reluctantly opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel beat him to it.

"You may consider yourself alone with me," the angel said. "I need not even be visible to be present."

Dean blinked at him, and Sam could see wheels turning in his head. He wondered what his brother was thinking, but even when his 'psychic powers' were at their height, he couldn't read minds. "Fine," Dean said. "But I want to feel like I'm alone."

Castiel nodded. "By the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you will."

Turning his back firmly towards the table, Dean jerked his coat on and stalked out of the apartment.

When the door slammed with his brother and the angel on the other side of it, Sam slumped in his chair, grateful that Dean was willing to put up with Castiel following him around. "So, Sam, what has he told you about Hell?" Bobby asked. Sam blinked at him. "If he won't answer, someone's going to have to."

Sam shook his head. "He hasn't told me much, and he'd flip if I told anyone else."

"What happened to the new 'no secrets' policy?" Bobby asked sarcastically.

"I really don't know much, Bobby," Sam said.

"So tell us what you do know," Ellen suggested.

The door opened and Jo ran in. "Dean's walking down the street alone! What's –" She stopped, looking around. "Where's Castiel?"

"With Dean," Sam said. "Being invisible."

"So Dean thinks you let him go out alone?"

"No, Dean seems to think he'll feel alone if Cas isn't visible."

Jo walked over and sat down. "I'm going to drive out to Danica's place tomorrow and we'll do some hand to hand training. Why does Dean want to be alone?"

"We tried to get him to talk about Hell," Bobby said. "He didn't want to."

"Who would?" Jo asked. "I mean, it has to have been pretty awful."

"So, Sam?" Ellen said. "I know you don't want to break his confidence, but we really do need to know so that we can help him."

"Look, you know the key stuff," Sam said. "He was tortured for thirty years, spent ten under the effects of Stockholm syndrome, and then he got out."

"And there was some sexual content to the torture," Ellen added, and Sam gulped back his immediate emotional response.

"I don't understand that," Jo said. "I mean, when you're dead, aren't you just pure spirit?"

"I'm not sure anyone really understands how it works, Jo, except maybe Dean," Ellen said.

"I know that Dean viewed himself as having some sort of physical body, he talked about being flayed and then restored," Sam said, shrugging. "He really . . . he's only actually said anything to me on three occasions, two of them recent. One of those was describing a flashback, and the other ended in a flashback." He shook his head. "One thing I know . . . I . . . Alastair told Dean that he'd tortured Dad for a hundred years and that he never broke, and Dean's been thinking he was the lesser Winchester ever since."

"He believed him?" Bobby asked. "I mean, if anyone could do it, it'd be your dad, but frankly, I don't buy it."

"Dean believed him, but it's not true," Sam said. "Alastair wasn't even in Hell while Dad was there. Cas doesn't know where he was or what he was doing, but he knows that angels were watching him, and they weren't watching him in Hell."

"Did you tell Dean?"

"Just now, actually," Sam said. "While we were in the bathroom. Look, Dean . . . he felt guilty for breaking the first seal, but I didn't know until yesterday that he felt guilty for being the lesser Winchester. He doesn't talk about this stuff. He says it's not the kind of thing that talking cures." He didn't want to go into other reasons why Dean didn't talk to him about Hell. Bobby already knew, and Ellen and Jo didn't need to. "I think we'll have to try and broach the subject of flashbacks with him later, after this is over, if he still has them. Otherwise, we just have to figure out how to give him his memories back and hope that killing this bastard fixes things." He sighed and looked out towards the door. "He's not going to talk about it."

* * *

Dean walked with his hands shoved into his coat pockets, his head down and his shoulders hunched. He crunched through the icy crust of the snow with each footfall. Saturday afternoon downtown. Not the busiest location. When he'd started his walk, he'd been able to see patches of brilliant blue amid clouds that varied from white and fluffy to grey and solid. A chill wind had risen, low at first, though it must have been whipping along pretty good at cloud level because the cloud cover had shifted to dark and looming. He hadn't seen any news today, too many other things had come up, but surely if Sam had known a storm was due, he'd have said something. He wondered vaguely how Cas did on navigating through blizzards.

Wind ruffled through Dean's short hair, and the first flakes of snow began to hit. Dean turned the collar of his old leather coat up. Dad's old leather coat. Dad. The man was a mystery. Every time Dean thought he knew something solid about his father, the fact slipped sideways and was lost. Dad's time in Hell . . . could Sam and Cas have been lying about that to make him feel better? He considered this notion seriously for several minutes, but then he shook his head. Sam, maybe. Cas, no. Cas told the truth or he didn't say anything. He didn't make things up.

So . . . Alastair hadn't lied about the first seal, but he'd lied about torturing Dad. He shouldn't find that shocking, but he did. Dad hadn't broken, but it was because he wasn't given the option, not because he'd stood up to the torture Dean had failed to endure. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that. He was glad – beyond glad – that Dad hadn't faced Alastair, especially not for a hundred years. But that had given himself something to measure his failure by – something he no longer had. His failure no longer had context, and that disturbed him.

The snow had picked up as he'd pondered, and now it was falling fairly heavily, frosting the trim of buildings and what cars were parked down here on a Saturday at three in the afternoon. Dean turned back towards the apartment. Sam would freak if he stayed out too long in a storm, and probably the others would, too. He wasn't used to having that many people to worry about him. Sam, maybe Bobby, but Sam, Bobby, Ellen and Jo? And then there was Cas, but he was right here, hovering invisibly, keeping an eye on Dean – and not incidentally, preventing the witch from spying on him. He supposed that if a blizzard started in earnest, Cas would just teleport him home.

It was kind of rude for him to insist that Cas stay out of sight. He was there, Dean knew he was there, and of all the people Dean had around him right now, Castiel was the least demanding – at least on an emotional level. At this point, he knew exactly where he stood with Cas, but the others were harder. He needed a map to navigate Sam's moods, and Bobby had ceased being Dean's Rock of Gibraltar when he'd said he'd rather die than be stuck in that chair for the rest of his life. Ellen and Jo . . . he loved them both, but he didn't really know them. Ellen made a great mother substitute when she was around, but he really hadn't spent enough time around her to be on stable footing. Jo made him think of a younger, unpredictable cousin. Not technically off-limits, but pragmatically so. He never knew quite what to expect from her. Castiel, though, finally Dean knew where he and the angel stood. Having Cas yell at him the way he had in Bobby's hospital room really crystallized it. That hadn't been the condescending rant of a superior to an inferior, it hadn't been a plea for understanding, it had simply been a protest between equals. Dean hadn't much liked it, but it made things pretty clear. Since then, he'd felt more like a partner with the angel than like a puppet. A poorly behaved puppet.

He was just contemplating calling ollie-ollie-oxenfree when he felt something hit the back of his shoulder. Electricity jolted through his body, making him stiffen. A scream ripped out of his throat despite himself. When the stun gun – it had to be a stun gun – was removed, Dean fell to his knees, shaking and unable to immediately control his body. All his nerves seemed to be misfiring, but that was kind of the point.

When the gay basher from the grocery store parking lot emerged from the alley, Dean stared at him in shock. What the hell was he doing here? He reached under Dean's arms and started dragging him into the alley. Dean struggled ineffectually and wondered where Cas was. He was reasonably certain that he didn't want to go anywhere with this guy. He didn't want to wind up tied to a goal post and beaten to death. His heels dragged along the ground, probably scratching the hell out of the new boots Sam had bought him. Dean tried to get loose, but the arms around his torso tightened painfully. Where was –

"Release him!" Cas ordered, and Dean felt intense relief followed shortly by pain. Gay basher guy dropped him, and he thumped to the ground in an uncontrolled fall. His head hit something hard, dazing him on top of the post-electrocution jangling nerves.

A gunshot rang out. Dean craned upwards and saw a point of blood start on Cas's chest. The angel's eyes narrowed, and he held his hand out flat towards the man beyond Dean's head. Dean couldn't really tell what was going on, but the gesture was a familiar one. It seemed fairly universal on the part of those folks who could kill by reaching out a hand. Dean half-expected a flashback, but he was spared for once. He rolled slowly to his hands and knees, but his coordination was shot. His bare hands slipped on the ice, and he fell down again, his head smacking against something hard. Stars dazzled him briefly, and then he sank into blackness.


	43. Chapter 43

Sam had intended to start dinner, but Ellen had anticipated the need and a casserole was already baking in the oven. When they'd given up on discussing Dean and Hell and possible ways to get his brother to talk, Sam had grabbed his computer and started researching witches. Bobby was using Dean's. Jo trotted upstairs and got her own while Ellen kibitzed and continued getting dinner ready.

"At some point soon I'm going to need to be able to set that table," Ellen said when they'd been at it for a while. Long enough for Sam to wonder when Dean was coming back.

"We're not eating till Dean comes back anyway," Jo replied.

Sam's phone rang and he picked it up. "Hello."

"Is this Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Ted?"

"I tried calling your brother, but his phone rang to voicemail. Given the state of the weather, we're not going to open tonight. It isn't too bad yet, but it's due to really let loose later on. Can you let Dean know, or do I need to keep trying him?"

"I got it," Sam said. "He's been having trouble with the ringer on his phone."

"I'll call tomorrow if we're going to open. If you don't hear from me, assume we're closed."

Sam heard a noise that made him turn, and his eyes widened at what he saw. Castiel stood in the middle of the floor, Dean held across his arms, head sagging down limply. He was clearly unconscious. Sam hit the end button on his phone without another word, shoving it into his pocket.

"What happened?" he demanded, hurrying across to Dean. He looked pale and drawn. Sam wanted to take over from Castiel, but he knew that he couldn't hold his brother with such easy strength. Dean's weight seemed to mean nothing to the angel, and as someone who had carried that dead weight, he knew . . .

"He was attacked," Castiel said.

"I thought you were going to protect him!" Sam exclaimed, glaring at him.

"I did," Castiel said. "The man hit him with an electronic device that destroyed his motor coordination and then dragged him towards a car. I stopped him."

"Why don't we get him to the bed?" Ellen suggested, and Sam nodded. He started moving in that direction with Cas following.

"Who was it?" Sam asked, pulling the covers back, then helping Cas guide Dean's body down to the bed, straightening his legs.

"I believe he was the 'serial killer' you were looking for."

Sam dropped one of Dean's boots on the floor. "The witch?"

"He was not using magic, but he might not on a public street."

"And Dean –"

"I believe he knocked himself out when he fell the third time."

"The third time!" Sam exclaimed. "What the hell happened?"

"After the man removed the electronic device –"

"Stun gun," Bobby interjected. He'd come as close to the bed as he could. "It's called a stun gun."

Castiel looked at him and nodded. "After the man removed the stun gun from Dean's shoulder, he collapsed. Then, when I challenged him, the man dropped him. Then Dean attempted to get up and failed, and that is when he fell unconscious." Castiel gazed solemnly at Dean, and Sam detected a hint of angelic anxiety.

Sam covered his brother up. "Maybe we should take him to the ER," he said.

"Not unless his reactions get more extreme," Bobby replied. "Or he might just kill you." Sam snorted mirthlessly. That was the truth.

"Cas?" Ellen said, and the angel looked at her. "You said the serial killer we _were_ looking for. Why _were_?"

"Because there is no longer any need to look for him," Castiel said.

"Any chance the cops are gonna connect that to Dean?" Bobby asked.

"I do not believe that their 'forensic specialists' will discover any 'trace evidence.'" It was possible to hear the quotes around certain words when Cas spoke.

"You watch _CSI_?" Jo asked dryly.

Castiel turned towards her. "With Sam on occasion. Dean dislikes 'procedural cop shows.'"

Sam shook his head. "How did you kill him?" he asked.

"I incinerated him," Cas said. "By now, he has dissipated in the storm." No one spoke for a long moment. Sam found that more than a little freaky, and he could tell that the others did too.

"So, Dean's safe now?" Jo asked. "If that was the serial killer, does that mean . . . everything's okay?"

"Well, not okay," Bobby replied. "Are we sure he was the serial killer?"

"Sam, show me the images of the men who were found," Castiel said.

Sam looked up from Dean. "The . . . oh, right." He walked over to his computer and pulled up the crime scene photographs.

Castiel walked over and looked. "The man I killed did this."

Sam gazed at the photographs with new eyes. The thought that Dean might have ended up like these guys disturbed him on a very deep level. "So it's over. The case is done."

"Thank God," Ellen breathed.

* * *

Dean heard people talking over by the table, and he struggled to get into a sitting position. Before he could do more than shove the blankets back, he had Sammy practically on top of him. "You okay, Dean?" he demanded breathlessly.

Every muscle in Dean's body ached, his head felt like a lead weight and he felt as shaky as a newborn colt. He looked up at Sam ironically. "Sure, I just got electrocuted and some dude shot Cas, but otherwise I'm just fine."

Sam's eyes widened and he turned towards the angel. "Cas, you okay?" Stupid question, Dean thought. Cas had taken fifty bullet wounds and a stab to the heart the night Dean had first met him. One small caliber bullet wasn't going to give him trouble, even cut off from Heaven as he was.

"I am well," Castiel said. Then he turned towards the bed. "Dean, how are you feeling?"

He shrugged. "I'd better get ready for work," he said, but when he started to roll off the bed, he realized that his legs were going to be too wobbly to hold him.

Sam pushed him back. "We have the night off," he said, and Dean's brows knit. Sammy had to stop calling in sick for him. He had responsibilities. "Ted called, they're closed tonight." Dean blinked. Or maybe not. Sam was still talking. "I think we're going to have to get you a new phone, because yours isn't working right."

"Closed?" Dean repeated. "Why?"

"Blizzard," Sam said. "You must have noticed the weather was getting bad."

Dean glanced towards the window and saw snow falling sideways in a nearly constant stream of white. "Yeah, not the best weather for clubbing," he said. "Do I smell chilis?"

"Enchilada casserole," Ellen said. "You hungry?"

"Very."

"I'll bring you a plate." She bustled off, and Dean sighed. He clearly wasn't getting out of this bed for a while.

"Let me get a look at your shoulder," Sam said, and Dean pulled away, giving his brother a dubious look. "Where you got stunned?" Rolling his eyes, Dean submitted to the quick check. "There's a burn – it went right through your shirt."

"What?" Dean exclaimed. "Where's the coat?"

"Dean," Sam started remonstratively, but Dean shook his head.

"Get me the damned coat." Sam complied, but Dean thought it was more to keep him in the bed than because he wanted to. Dean looked at the shoulder and stuck his finger through the hole. "Damn it!"

Castiel reached over and took the coat from Dean's hands. A moment later he handed it back, and Dean couldn't even find where the hole had been. "Dude, thanks!"

"What, you can heal that, but you can't give me back my legs?" Bobby demanded irascibly.

Castiel turned towards him, face utterly calm. "The coat does not have a nervous system."

"Fair enough." Bobby rolled to the base of the raised section of the floor as close to Dean as he could get. "So, was this the guy who kissed you?"

Dean stared at him. "No," he replied. "This was the gay basher. I don't know what the hell he wanted. I mean, he tried to stab me the last time I saw him, so what was he . . . planning . . . on . . ." He trailed off, looking around at everyone. They all seemed a bit flabbergasted. "What?"

"The gay basher?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah," Dean said. "The guy who attacked me in the grocery store parking lot. What's with all of you?"

"That was the serial killer," Castiel said.

"No way," Dean protested.

"I saw in his mind. He is the one who left those men dead in the motel rooms." His lips tightened. "That was what he'd intended for you."

Dean recalled those broken, bloody bodies and shivered. "But . . . he didn't . . ." He shook his head. "So, what happened to him? He run off?"

"Cas killed him," Sam said, and Dean could see that Sam was a little freaked about something.

Dean glanced over at Cas, who seemed perfectly calm, then around at the others. "So, it's over?" he asked.

"It is," Castiel said.

Dean wondered why that didn't feel right, but he figured it was probably just a question of anticlimax. The bastard had been killed while he knocked himself unconscious. "Well, then, maybe we can all go about our business and stop watching me every second of the day."

"Maybe we can leave town," Sam suggested. "That job was the only reason we were in Salt Lake."

Dean shook his head. "I told you, Sammy, there's lots of jobs around here that need doing."

"Dean, we're too much of a known quantity here," Sam protested. "We're even known to the cops under own names. It wouldn't be smart to do regular jobs here."

Ellen showed up at that moment with a plate, and Dean blessed her timely interruption. Sam left off for the moment, though Dean knew the subject wasn't closed. His brother went and got his own plate, but instead of going to the table, he came and sat down on the bed next to Dean. Great. Overprotective Sammy was apparently here to stay.

* * *

Felix pulled his car into his garage, pushing the button to close the door behind him. He was still shaking from reaction. How Morgan had managed to break the geas spells Felix had placed on him was a mystery for the moment, but the spells had rebounded on Felix while he was on the highway, nearly causing him to wreck. Between the snow, the power backlash and the idiot drivers around him, it had been a very near thing. Felix slammed his car door shut and made his way inside. He removed his new coat – it had proven to be a dream to bespell – and hung it up reverently in his closet.

He wanted to go straight into the workroom to locate Morgan and destroy him, but he forced himself back to calm and went into the bedroom to change his clothes. He took a hot shower, engaging in meditation exercises while the water streamed over him. He needed to be calm when the time came to discipline Morgan. Though discipline might be the wrong word. Execute might be more fitting.

He dried himself off and went into the workroom. He made a ritual out of preparing the components of the spell and finally seated himself at the center of the diagram and set the power in motion. He had set some control spells on Morgan at a very deep level that even another witch might have difficulty reaching; however, the spells had been shattered – not by deliberate effort but by the death of Morgan. He refocused his spell, seeking Morgan's body, not wishing examples of his magic to fall into unfriendly hands. What he found made him draw back in shock.

Morgan's body was everywhere in the winds of the blizzard. He had very nearly been atomized. Clearly his rival had located the spell in the basement of the club, but instead of being destroyed by it, he had turned it around on Felix's servant, taunting him. It was an outright challenge, and Felix would not fail it.

He set about building his strength so that he would be ready.


	44. Chapter 44

Sam watched his brother sleep, seething with frustration. He'd tried every method he could think of to persuade Dean that they should leave Salt Lake, but nothing worked. Sam just wanted out of the city. He knew that the serial killer was dead, and he knew that probably meant that Dean was out of danger, but he couldn't stand the idea of staying in this city. The fact that they were so well known was only one among the reasons he wanted to leave, but it was a reason that Sam had believed Dean would understand.

"He'll be fine, Sam," Bobby said. "What are you worried about?"

Sam shrugged, but Bobby just waited. Sam sighed. "The last time Dean got hit by a Taser, he nearly died," he said.

"That was four years ago, Sam, and the circumstances aren't remotely similar. You boys jacked those guns up high, and we know this guy didn't want to kill Dean. He wanted the opportunity to –" He grimaced when Sam waved his hand to forestall the words. "Dean will be fine."

"I should get him to go to the hospital when he wakes up. Just to check him out. And then we should get the hell out of Dodge."

"You aren't going to be able to convince him to go, Sam."

"Why not?" Sam demanded. "He's usually more than willing to leave town once a job's done."

"He seems to kind of like it here, besides, he's been known to stick around a town for a while. You know that, surely."

Sam shook his head. "We go to a town, we deal with the case, we leave. That's it." He knit his brows. "He stuck around for a while with Cassie, but that was years ago and he thought he was in love."

"He's done it on other occasions, Sam," Bobby said. "I thought you knew that. Your dad knew."

Sam abruptly recalled Dad saying something about getting Dean a home when they managed to kill the yellow-eyed demon. "I guess. I never really thought about it. I've never seen it, I don't think. I'm not sure why."

A waft of cold air made Sam shiver, and he looked up to see an insubstantial figure forming at the foot of Dean's bed. "Bobby?" he exclaimed.

"I see it, but . . . you got any salt on you?"

Sam shook his head and started to get to his feet, but then the figure came into focus. Sam's jaw dropped. "Hey there, Sam and . . ." The spirit's brows knit. "Dean's asleep?"

"Andy?!" Sam exclaimed. "What are you . . . you're not at rest?" The idea disturbed him mightily. He'd managed not to think too hard about where Ava had wound up, but the thought that Andy hadn't found peace bothered him.

"I was, I think," Andy said. "I'm here for a reason." He gazed down at Dean. "Is he okay? He looks kind of . . . bad."

"He's okay, mostly," Sam said. "What reason?"

"I just . . . let me think." He raised his hands and pressed them to his forehead in a classic Andy pose.

Bobby wheeled up with a familiar-looking tin in his hand. "Sam, I grabbed some –"

Sam knelt on the raised platform and caught Bobby's wrist before he could throw the salt through Andy. "Just a minute, Bobby. He's a friend."

"The ghost's a _friend_?" Bobby demanded.

"He's one of the psychic kids."

"What?" Bobby looked at the silent spirit with wide eyes. "And that's a good thing?"

"He was the best of us," Sam said in a hurried undertone. "The only one who would never ever have said yes to Azazel."

"Really?" Bobby gazed at him thoughtfully. "Funny, he looks like a stoner."

"That doesn't mean he –"

"Hush up, kid, I didn't mean nothing by it."

"I got it!" Andy exclaimed. "I came to warn you. Dean's in terrible danger!"

Sam blinked, and then looked at Bobby. "From what? How do you know?"

"Some guy pulled me out of wherever I was and started asking me questions about Dean. I figured out he was up to no good, so I told him to forget about Dean, but . . ." Andy shrugged. "You know that never worked for long." Sam nodded, recalling the speed with which Dean had come back to himself the few times Andy had worked his mojo on him. Andy shrugged again. "I thought I'd better warn you guys."

"Thanks," Sam said. "What did he ask?"

"He just wanted to know everything I knew about Dean."

"Why?"

Andy gave a little shudder. "He was just really creepy. You gotta stop him, because he's seriously whacked."

"I'm pretty sure he's already dead," Sam said, and Andy's face fell. "Not that we don't really appreciate you coming to tell us."

"Anything for you guys, you saved Tracy's life, and you helped me deal with my evil twin. I just wish . . ." He sighed. "If you ever see Tracy again, tell her I really loved her. She probably thinks I ran out on her."

"Wait, were you with her when Yellow-Eyes grabbed us?" Sam asked.

"I was," Andy said. "I mean, not physically, but we were sort of trying the dating thing again."

"That's cool!" Sam said.

"Yeah, it was," Andy replied. "Hey, whatever happened to that demon guy, anyway?"

"Dean killed him," Sam said.

Andy's eyes widened, and he looked down at the figure in the bed. "Go Dean!"

"Wha?" Dean murmured, looking up. He blinked. "Andy?"

"Hey Dean," Andy said.

Dean sat up, staring at the ghost. "You're looking good – a little transparent, but good."

"You look like crap," Andy said frankly.

"Thanks," Dean said. He glanced over at Sam and Bobby, and he must have seen the salt canister in Bobby's hand. "Hey, Bobby, put that away," he said. "Andy's a friend."

"So I've heard," Bobby replied, tucking the canister into a corner of his chair.

"So, can you guys tell me, how do I go about getting back to wherever I was? Cuz I don't see any kind of a tunnel or anything."

Sam glanced at Dean to see if he had any ideas, after all, Dean had a personal relationship with a reaper. He just shook his head.

"Hang on," Bobby said. He rolled over to the table and dug in a bag he'd left on a chair. Putting a book in his lap, he came back and started flipping. "I got something in here that's supposed to help send a spirit on. Maybe that'll work." He glanced up at Andy. "You ready?"

"Are you their dad?" Andy asked.

"Nope," Bobby said, but at the same moment, Dean said, "He's better than our dad."

Andy grinned. "Cool. I'm ready."

Bobby gave Dean an odd look, but then he returned to his book and began to read off the spell. Sam listened, interested, but it was in a language he didn't know. When he was done, Bobby looked up. "You see any kind of tunnel or white light now?"

Andy looked around, and Sam wondered if he saw the same things they did, or if the walls and furniture were as insubstantial to him as he was to them. "Nope."

"Damn," Bobby said. "I thought that would –"

"Wait!" Andy was looking to his left. "There's a chick here." He stood for a moment as if he was listening. "Sure, I'll tell them." He turned to Dean. "Dude, she says you need to listen to your angel buddy."

"What? Is that Tessa?" Dean asked, turning towards the open space that Andy had been addressing.

"She's nodding," he said, and then he turned and apparently addressed Tessa. "That's a pretty name." Turning back, he said, "Anyway, Dean, that's it, and I've got to go. Thanks for everything guys, and I'll catch you all on the flip side."

At that moment, his ghostly representation was suddenly sheathed with light. He glanced over at Bobby again. "Hey man, nice wheels," he said. Then he vanished.

Dean turned to Sam. "What was he here for?" he asked.

Sam snorted. "He wanted to let us know you were in danger."

Dean grinned. "Andy's awesome, dude," he said sleepily as he snuggled back up to his pillow. "A little late, but awesome."

Sam watched his brother go back to sleep and made sure the covers were tight around him. Then he rose and walked down towards the dining table, Bobby wheeling along beside him. "How on earth did you summon a reaper?" Sam asked.

"Sumerian spell," Bobby replied. "So . . . how long did it usually work?"

Sam blinked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I would have dismissed it as hyperbole, but the way you nodded made me think it was something else. He said he told our stalker to forget about Dean, but 'you know that never worked for long.' You seemed to know what he was talking about."

"Oh." Sam grinned. "Andy was Obi Wan," he said. "'These are not the droids you're looking for,' you know? Both him and his evil twin."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "He really had an evil twin?"

"Yup. Fraternal, but they both had the same power. We thought we were hunting Andy till Ansen showed up."

Bobby shook his head. "You boys have the weirdest friends. I mean, most of the time when ghosts show up, they're scary bastards."

"I told you, he was a good guy when he was alive."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "I'm sure most of the witnesses were good people while they were alive, but they came back pretty damned terrifying, wouldn't you say?"

Sam grimaced and acknowledged the truth of the statement. He didn't think that Meg Masters had been a bitch when she was alive . . . though he supposed her condemnation of his activities had actually been fair enough. Regardless, her attacks on Dean were entirely unjustified. Even if they'd known there was a girl in there when she'd gone out the window, they couldn't have stopped it without letting themselves be killed, and he was reasonably sure she knew that. She certainly hadn't seemed angry with them once they'd exorcised the demon. All that anger had arisen from the spell that forced her to leave her rest. Likewise with Ronnie. Sam couldn't be sure of Henrickson. If his tale to Dean about what had happened in that police station after they'd left was true, he had reason to be angry. Not at them, but anger didn't always direct itself where it belonged.

"Where is Dean?"

Sam whirled. "Castiel?" The angel had left with very little explanation after Dean had fallen asleep. "He's in bed. What are you –" Castiel turned away and walked over to Dean, staring at him for a long moment.

"What is it, cherub boy?" Bobby demanded.

Castiel's head came up, and he turned towards Bobby with an offended expression. "I am not a cherub," he snapped.

Sam glanced at Bobby who raised his hands. "Sorry, didn't know it was an insult."

"They are a lower order of angel," Cas said to Bobby. "And they are annoying." He turned his attention Sam. "My bad feeling has not gone away."

Sam stared at him, dumbfounded. His hadn't either, but he'd assumed he was just being paranoid.

"You sure you're not just having vapors?" Bobby asked acerbically. "According to Sam here, you've been acting like a worried girlfriend."

Cas's eyes flitted to Sam's face, then returned to Bobby. "I disregarded the continued feeling initially. I considered that it might be . . . vapors." He shook his head. "However, it has persisted. It should have gone by now if there was no longer any basis for it."

"It's only been a couple of hours," Bobby said.

"It has been long enough," Castiel replied shortly. "There is still a danger beyond the serial killer."

"So, the crazed, sexual psychopathic serial killer who was going to chop him up and leave his parts scattered around a motel room _isn't_ the big threat?" Bobby asked. Sam could have done without the summation. The images Bobby's words brought up made his brain freeze. He'd seem too many of Dean's parts bloodily separate – he knew what it looked like.

"Apparently not," Castiel said.

"Great!" Bobby shook his head. "This is a weird ass world."

"So we're back where we started, only we don't even have a suspect," Sam growled, throwing his hands in the air. There was a mutter from the bed, and they all turned. Sam took off across the apartment. "Dean, what is it?"

"Lucifer. Now shut up."

"Lucifer?" Sam repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"The suspect. Lucifer. Duh." He shook his head, looking beyond Sam who glanced back and saw Cas behind him. "That's what you've been sensing."

"No, it isn't," Cas said with assurance.

"How can you be so sure?" Dean asked.

"Because I sensed the danger to you from Lucifer from the start," Cas said. "This is separate."

"What, are you some kind of danger-ometer?" Dean asked.

"I have no idea what that means," Castiel said testily. "You have been my chief concern for many years, and since I raised you from the Pit, we have been connected."

"Dude, that sounds cheesy," Dean protested.

"I fail to see what relevance dairy products have to this situation," Castiel said.

"You said a mouthful," Bobby muttered.

Cas looked quizzically at Bobby, but before he could ask any questions, Dean said, "Dairy products are always relevant. Especially ice cream."

"I am aware of your fondness for ice cream."

"Wait, didn't you bring me ice cream the other day?" Dean looked up at Sam. "Didn't he bring me ice cream the other day? Where is it?"

"It's in the freezer, Dean," Sam said. "Go back to sleep, you can have some –"

"I want some now," Dean interjected. "I could just get up and –"

"No, no, no!" Sam exclaimed, and Dean settled back expectantly. Sam knew he was being manipulated, but he went into the kitchen, shaking his head. He scooped out four helpings of ice cream, plopped plastic spoons in each of them and delivered the treat to all of his companions, including Castiel.

"I have no need of sustenance," Castiel protested.

"This isn't something you eat because you need sustenance," Dean said. Sam had known that any complaints Dean might have made about Sam having some of his favorite ice cream would lose all interest for his brother in the face of convincing Cas that he should give ice cream a try. "It's something you eat because it tastes good, because it makes you feel good." He took a spoonful and put it in his mouth, savoring it with almost indecent pleasure. "Go ahead, try some."

Looking dubious, Castiel dipped into his ice cream, picking up a tiny amount. He tasted it hesitantly, but then his eyes widened. "Is this . . . one of the perks?" he asked, taking a large spoonful and putting it in his mouth.

"There is nothing iniquitous about ice cream," Dean said with a grin. Sam sat down on the floor next to where Bobby had drawn up his chair. Dean would now be happy for days, having convinced the angel to try something new.

He sighed. They just had to figure out what this threat was and neutralize it. An idea occurred to him. "Dean?" he said, looking up.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"You let me know if you see that guy who kissed you in the basement again, okay?"

"Sammy, I am not going to let you beat up on a guy whose only crime is appreciating the full gorgeousness of Dean Winchester."

"Dean, that man forced himself on you, and I don't care what you think, It's unacceptable behavior."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever, dude. It's fine, and I'm not going to point him out to you."

Sam started to object, but Bobby put a hand on his arm and shook his head. Sam subsided. Bobby was right, there was no point in arguing with Dean at the moment. He'd just have to keep his eye out for weird behavior.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [If you're also reading Azazel's Plan B, skip this.] Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, but I would like to put out a request for more reviews. I realize that I kind of overreacted here a while back, but what you can't know is that right at that time, I got pretty heavily trolled by a dumbass who acted all friendly, made these unbelievably positive reviews on every chapter of a couple of my NCIS stories, and then when I didn't live up to 'expectations', started sending me abusive PMs. I got a little touchy, and, as I said, I overreacted.
> 
> Look, I need reviews. reviews are love. And, I will say, a couple of people suggested then that I might stop posting because of negative reviews, but the simple fact is that I'm far more likely to stop if I stop getting reviews at all. I have a fairly strong ego, but it needs to be stroked. ;)

Dean woke cuddled up to Sammy again. They'd all had dinner, and then Cas had taken Bobby home, Ellen and Jo had gone back upstairs and Dean had gone back to bed. Sam had barely let him out of bed for dinner, but he had to admit, he felt like crap. He slid out of Sam's grasp and took a quick glance around to make sure that there were no observers before he got to his feet. He made his tottery way across the living room to the bathroom, cleaned himself up, then settled with a bag of chips on the sofa. He really needed a better TV, but he supposed he could live with this one for a while.

Flipping through the channels, he found some Warner Brothers cartoons, which struck him as about his level of coherent thought at the moment. Elmer Fudd chasing Bugs and getting skunked over and over again suited him. After three or four little mini-cartoons, Sam got up and started puttering around. He got cleaned up, tidied around Dean, and then went into the kitchen. He returned with a bowl of oatmeal, a glass of milk and snatched away the chips away. "Eat that. It's better for you."

"It's just a different kind of starch, Sammy," Dean protested.

"It's not fried starch."

Dean glowered at him and looked down at the glop. Okay, it was brown sugar-flavored glop, but it was still glop. He began to eat it, still watching cartoons. The apartment was cold, and the window was a solid mass of white. "You think we're going to open tonight?" Dean asked.

"Not likely." Sam settled down on the sofa next to him, his laptop in hand. "Ted told me to assume we'd be closed unless he called, and there's no sign the storm's clearing. Online weather forecasts say it'll last through around noon on Tuesday."

Dean sighed. He'd been hoping to get out of the apartment again, not to mention that tonight would have been his last chance to sing. Elmer Fudd was ineffectually pursuing the 'wascally wabbit' over and over again. This time they were doing opera. "Tuesday?"

"That's what the news said." They were silent for several moments, and then Sam cleared his throat. "Do we have to watch Bugs Bunny?" he asked.

"Next one's about Daffy Duck," Dean said. "Duck Dodgers in the twenty-fourth-and-a-half century." He mimicked Daffy Duck's accent, spitting slightly.

"Oh, dude, gross!" Sam brushed at his computer screen, though Dean was reasonably sure that he hadn't actually gotten any on it.

"We're watching it. It's fun, it's mindless, and it requires no effort." He leaned forward and put the oatmeal bowl on the coffee table.

"You want more?" Sam asked helpfully. "Or something to drink?"

"I'm good, Sammy. I just want to watch Marvin and Daffy drive each other nuts."

"You sure?"

Dean gave him a quelling look, and Sam wilted. With silence reigning – apart from the ever present sound of Sam's keys clicking – Dean settled in and kept watching. Loony Toons gave way to Yogi Bear. This cartoon channel was doing some kind of weird nostalgia binge. He got up, went to the bathroom and then grabbed a soda from the fridge. When he got back, a new show was already in progress. He was frankly surprised that Sam hadn't changed the channel while he was gone, but maybe the whole mother hen thing had its perks.

He sat down and took a pull from his Coke. The show came back from commercial, and Dean saw the large round face of a black and white cartoon cat. His fist clenched on the can, and soda fountained out.

"Dean, what are you –" Sammy broke off, but Dean wasn't paying him much attention. He grabbed for the remote and turned off the cable, with the consequence that it looked rather like the black and white scene shattered into the little dots of light and dark that were TV screen snow. He dropped the soda can, stood up, and walked into the bathroom, his gut churning.

He didn't lose his breakfast, but it was a near thing. After a couple of minutes of preparedness, he slumped against the wall and slid down it to sit on the linoleum tile floor. _Felix the Cat_. It was a friggin' cartoon, for pete's sake. Apparently he had that pretty firmly associated with his attacker.

"What on earth was that?" Sam demanded, and Dean looked up to see that he hadn't shut the bathroom door. "Dean, are you okay?"

"Peachy," Dean said.

Further conversation was postponed while Sam dragged Dean to his feet and guided him back out into the dining room. Once there, he grabbed one of Dean's jackets and brought it over. "You're shivering."

"It's cold," Dean replied, drawing the jacket around himself.

"Not that cold." Sam poured two cups of coffee and came over to sit down. "Dude, what was that reaction?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess I'm not going to watch _Felix the Cat_ any time in the near future," he said. "What's for lunch?"

"Dean, we are going to talk about this," Sam said. "That was a hell of a reaction."

Dean turned and glared at Sam. "Exactly what are we going to talk about? My nonexistent memories? My crap reaction to my nonexistent memories? There's not really a point."

"Maybe we can shake them loose by talking about . . . stuff. You remembered the name Felix. Maybe if you –"

"Who says I want to remember something that makes me flash back to Hell, Sammy?" Dean demanded.

Sam blinked at him silently, as if he hadn't considered that. "Dean, we have to figure out what happened and deal with it, because you can't keep having random reactions like that."

"That wasn't random, we knew the trigger in advance."

"Did you know you were going to freak out like that and shower us with cola?"

Dean took a swallow of coffee and tried to ignore his brother because he didn't have a good answer for that. Even with the connection made to that cartoon cat, Dean would never have expected so strong a reaction. He stood up and went back into the living room. With a stab at the power button on the TV, he shut it off.

"Dean, where are you going?"

"I don't know," Dean growled. He stared at the cracks in the wall. "This sucks, you know?" He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Crappy stuff happened to me, and I don't remember it. That should be a good thing."

"I know."

"You know." Dean shook his head and contained himself. Blowing up at Sam because he sounded like a Hallmark card wasn't fair. He cleared his throat. "He whistled the theme song," he said.

"What?"

"The guy, Felix, he whistled the theme song. I think he thought it was funny."

A thump behind him made him jump, and he turned his head. Sam had clearly just punched the wall. "Sorry," Sam muttered. "That just pisses me off."

Dean shrugged. "It's over, the bastard's dead, and since I'm reasonably certain Bobby and Cas conspired to give me a way more personal exam than I wanted, I haven't actually been raped. There are worse things that could happen."

"Yeah, maybe," Sam said. "That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"The point is we've got to deal with what we've got, and . . ."

"I am not talking about this," Dean said. He walked over and turned the TV on, and then he threw himself down onto the couch, ignoring the dampness that still remained from the spill. Grabbing the remote, he said, "I'm going to find Perry Mason, because I'm fairly sure that there isn't anything in that to freak me out."

Sam shrugged and went back over to the table. So far as Dean could tell, he was fixing lunch. Dean didn't find Perry Mason, but he found _Army CID_. It was one among many procedural cop shows, but he hated it less than some of the others. He settled back and watched.

* * *

Sam listened vaguely to the TV while Dean watched. He didn't want to let Dean sit and stew, but he didn't know how to get his brother to open up. He searched through the Salt Lake papers, looking for episodes of homosexual assault, figuring that would be his best bet on how to find the guy who'd attacked Dean. After the way Dean had described that incident, and how thinking back on it make him feel, Sam wasn't about to let the guy get away with it.

One show gave way to another, but in the middle of the third, the power went out. Sam was startled when the sudden cessation of stimulus didn't cause Dean to stand up and start complaining. He glanced over and saw that Dean was asleep again, and Castiel was standing two feet in front of him, just watching.

"Cas?" Sam said. "Something wrong?"

"He was dreaming."

"I didn't hear anything," Sam said.

"He made no noise," Castiel replied. "I . . . sensed it."

Sam blinked. "Do you know what he was dreaming about?"

"Being bound, spread-eagled." Sam's stomach turned at the image. "I don't know much more than that because I did not allow the dream to continue."

"What do you think we should do?" Sam asked.

"I think we should get Dean out of Salt Lake City, but I do not believe he will agree to go."

Sam nodded. "And Bobby's right, he'd just turn around and come back if we made him leave."

"I think the angel and the brother should shut up so that Dean can get some more sleep," Dean said, making both Sam and Cas look down at him.

"Are you tired, or are you just sleeping so you don't have to think?" Sam asked.

"Is there a difference?" Dean asked.

"We need to talk about what happened."

"Not happening, Sammy." The power came back on, and Dean peered between them. "Hey, it's _America's Next Top Model!_ Why don't you guys go somewhere else and leave me alone?"

Sam sighed and walked away. Castiel stayed in front of Dean. "You should leave this city, Dean." Dean ignored him. "Dean, did you hear me?" Dean crossed his arms and leaned back on the sofa, gazing intently at the screen which Sam guessed was probably showing a half-naked woman. He wasn't grinning, he looked like he was studying for a test. "Dean, this is important."

"So is this," Dean said, gesturing at the TV. "I want to know who wins, Brandi or Shaundra. Pilar is right out. She screwed up the last turn on the runway last time."

Sam stared at him incredulously. "You know that?" he exclaimed.

"Of course," Dean said. "All the guys watch. Didn't you know?"

Sam shook his head. Castiel had turned around. "Who is Brandi?" he asked.

"The long brown hair, there, with pale skin. Wait, look, she's doing her confessional whatsit."

"She does seem to be physically attractive," Castiel said.

"Yeah!" Dean said, laughing. "Sit on down. Enjoy yourself. You can look, can't you?"

Castiel took a seat on the sofa next to Dean, looking soberly at the screen. Sam rolled his eyes. "Great, Dean, corrupt the angel."

"Iniquity is one of the perks, Sammy boy," Dean said with an irritating grin.

Castiel tilted his head "What this blond woman is wearing looks somewhat like what Chastity wore."

Dean knit his brows. "That's Shaundra." He studied the screen. "Yeah, sort of, but hers had those dangling bits, like wings or something. I don't know what they're called."

Sam knew that Chastity was the hooker Dean had set Cas up with, so he was curious. That was his only motivation for rising from his chair. He only wanted to know in what way Dean had imposed on the angel. That was his story, and he was sticking to it. "Peplum," he said. "I think."

Dean turned and looked up at him. "Who knows shit like that?" he demanded rhetorically. "And you all keep asking _me_ if I'm really gay."

Sam sat down on the end of the couch watching the women pose in various types of lingerie. "Shut up, Dean," he muttered. Dean chuckled, but he didn't say anything else, and the three of them watched in relative silence.


	46. Chapter 46

Ellen opened the door of the downstairs loft and saw three men – or two men and an angel in a male body – gazing raptly at the TV screen. In her experience, there were only two possibilities. Either it was sports, or there were naked women involved. She stepped in and closed the door, glancing at the TV. Half-naked women. Good enough.

She walked across the living room and went into the kitchen to start dinner. She figured she'd better get it going now in the hope that the power would stay on long enough to cook it. Electric stoves could be damned inconvenient when the power shut down. She'd had propane for heat and cooking at the Roadhouse, but here they were stuck with what the apartments came equipped with.

Very little sound came from the three guys. Apparently Castiel qualified as a guy in this situation. Ellen was amused as she pulled together a quick and easy casserole that wouldn't take a long time to cook. Once it was in the oven, she settled down in front of Sam's computer. He appeared to be researching non-fatal sexual assaults in Salt Lake City over the past ten years. She glanced over at the boys. It seemed that Sam wasn't going to let the matter of the masher in the basement drop, no matter what his brother said.

Family. Always looking out for each other, even when it wasn't wanted. She distinctly remembered directing Dean on the path of his wandering little brother once a few years back when Sam had tried to lose him. It appeared that turnabout was fair play.

Fortunately, _America's Next Top Model_ had given way to _Top Chef_ by the time Jo came down. Her daughter could be the slightest bit judgmental, and she had an odd reaction to most of what happened between Dean and Castiel. Hell, she still had half a _thing_ about Dean. The only things holding it in check were her sense of dignity and a desire not to be humiliated.

They ate dinner family-style, apart from Castiel. He merely sat at the table and provided infrequent additions to the conversation. It was surprisingly easy to get used to. They talked about movies and music and Dean's opinion of their car – not good – avoiding all serious topics altogether. No past hunts, no current events, no questions about sexuality of any kind. It seemed like everyone was trying to be good.

Then the power went out, and this time it stayed out. Sam and Dean were prepared. Hunters always were. Three penlights went on almost simultaneously, and Dean had a full on flashlight. He went over and turned on a radio. "Maybe they'll be able to tell us when the power will be back on," he said.

It came on, sort of staticky and weak, but they could hear enough. ". . . winds knocked the tree down, taking out a whole string of power poles along that stretch of . . . power will be out . . . possibly till mid-afternoon on Tuesday . . ."

"So, why don't you ladies go up and get yourselves some blankets?" Dean suggested blithely.

"Why?" Jo asked, always ready to challenge any idea not her own.

"Because the furnace is electric, and your apartment is practically all windows," Dean replied without a trace of condescension. "That's one reason why I took this one."

"Afraid of the cold?" Jo asked.

"Fewer points of entry," Dean said with a shrug, and Ellen hid a grin behind a mug of coffee. "Besides, the bed that place came with wasn't big enough for a sasquatch, and I knew Sammy was joining me, probably before he was all the way recovered."

"From the pig disease," Castiel put in unexpectedly.

Dean glanced at him and nodded. "Yes, from the pig disease."

"You know, it hasn't been found in any American pigs," Sam said.

Dean gave him a dubious look, shook his head, then cleared his throat ostentatiously. "Anyway, the point is that this place is already fairly warm. With five bodies in it – assuming Cas stays – it will stay that way. We'll use the same arrangement we had the first couple of nights, you ladies in the bed and Sam on the couch."

"Maybe you should take the couch, Dean," Sam suggested, and Dean turned a glare on his brother. "Or not, I don't care."

That settled, Ellen collared Jo and dragged her upstairs to get their blankets and pillows. When they got back down, Sam and Dean had already set the table for poker by flashlight. "Cards, huh?" Ellen asked.

"I thought about suggesting charades, but that would involve an awful lot of explanation to Cas," Dean said.

"And poker won't?"

Castiel sat down at the table. "I have watched Dean play many times. I believe I understand the rules."

The angel proved to be a canny player. Definitely a newbie, but not a stupid newbie. It kept them busy for a while, Dean reminding Sam periodically of his tells until Sam growled at him to shut up because he was the one who'd beaten the nine-hundred-year-old poker shark. When she noticed Dean concealing yawns, Ellen stretched theatrically and suggested that it was time for bed.

Sam looked surprised, but then he glanced at Dean and agreed. Ellen wanted to kick him under the table. The kid had no subtlety. The thing that alarmed them both, however, was that Dean didn't even seem to notice. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. My nap earlier got interrupted by a couple of guys arguing about what they were going to do with me."

"What?" Jo asked. "Was it a dream?"

"Nope, just my brother and my angel, making plans for me like always."

"Dean, we're just worried about you," Sam said.

It was clear that Sam had a whole lot more to say, but Dean cut him off. "Yeah, I know sasquatch, but I'm not five. I can take care of myself."

All three of the other humans tactfully failed to remind him of the fact that he'd been conspicuously failing to take care of himself for some time. Castiel apparently didn't know much about tact.

"You have been attacked repeatedly without any ability to stop it, and you did not, in fact, prevent the last attack from being successful."

Dean flinched very slightly, but it was noticeable. "Yeah, Cas, thanks for that. Anyway, good night all." With that, he went and grabbed a couple of blankets and a pillow, ostentatiously ignoring the rest of them. Sam grabbed Castiel by the arm and dragged him aside for a talking to. Ellen grabbed Jo when she would have followed and suggested that she make the bed while her mother picked up. In short order, they were all snugged down in their assigned beds. All but Castiel, that is.

Ellen lay thinking for a while, contemplating the situation they found themselves in. Dean seemed about ready to either explode or implode, and she didn't know how to defuse him. Clearly Sam didn't, not that she found that altogether surprising. Their relationship was complicated to say the least. Still, Bobby seemed pretty lost, too. Dean just never let his emotions show. It made it very difficult to address them with him.

Tomorrow she'd have to approach him. No, she'd have to send Sam and Jo upstairs and then approach him. He wouldn't talk in front of them. Decision made, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

She wasn't sure what time it was when she felt herself get prodded awake. She sat up onto her elbows. "What? Something wrong?"

Jo pointed. "Look," she said in a low voice. "Do you see that?"

Ellen squinted across at Dean lying on the floor. Castiel lay beside him on his back, his arms crossed, his eyes on the ceiling. Dean had cuddled up to him. "Yeah, why?"

"Why won't he just admit it?"

"Admit what?" Ellen asked. She must be missing something.

"That they're together," Jo said. "Why lie about it?"

"You woke me up for that?" Ellen asked. "Go to sleep."

"Mom –"

"Go to sleep, JoAnna Beth, and don't you dare wake Dean up." Shaking her head, Ellen rolled over, punched the pillow and fell back asleep.

* * *

Sam woke to light shining in his eyes. Next time he slept on this sofa, he needed to remember to put his head at the other end because the sun shone right in his eyes by mid-morning. He opened his eyes, shielding them from the light. He could hear quiet noises in the kitchen, which meant that someone else was already awake. He shifted sideways and sat up, scratching his head.

The bed was empty, so Ellen and Jo were up. He stretched, and glanced over to where Dean had lain out his blankets. He stared, jaw dropping. Dean was cuddled up against Castiel, who was lying on his back on the floor, clearly nowhere near asleep. Sam didn't know what to think. Dean literally had his head pillowed on Castiel's chest. It really looked like there was more going on there than either of them was admitting, but he supposed looks could be misleading. Either way, Dean was going to be embarrassed when he woke up and realized that everyone else had seen him.

Sam got up and stretched, went to the bathroom, then went to find out what Ellen and Jo were up to. Evidently the power was still not back on. Ellen had a propane camp stove sitting on the counter and was making bacon. "Hey," he said, that being about what he was capable of before coffee. He poured himself a cup and took a swallow. "Where's Jo?"

"She went upstairs to get dressed," Ellen said. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine." Sam glowered at the coffee and demanded that it perk him up faster. "You?"

"Okay, except Jo felt the need to wake me up and tell me that Dean and Cas were getting it on."

"What?" Sam turned to look at his brother and the angel. "They were?"

"No," Ellen said, sounding exasperated. "They were just lying mostly like they are now. What is with you two? Is there a reason I don't know about to assume that those two are intimate?"

"They're really close," Sam said reluctantly. "With a weird intensity."

"I'm not sure you can base your judgment on human norms, Sam," Ellen said, and Sam blinked at her. "Castiel's an angel. Maybe that's just the way they are."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not sure what to think," he said. "I just . . . it worries me sometimes."

"What worries you?" Ellen asked.

Sam grimaced. "I don't know. That's the problem. I just . . . worry."

Ellen sighed and handed him a plate with pancakes and bacon. "That's rough, kid. Try to relax. We've all got plenty to worry about. Don't go looking for more things."

Good advice, but Sam didn't seem to be constitutionally capable of taking it. He sat down with his plate, and then Jo came down and got one for herself. After he was done eating, he'd better take their phones down to the car and charge them so they'd be able to get calls.

Movement from Dean's bedding made Sam turn, and he saw Castiel slipping gently out from under Dean, letting him down gently to the floor. The angel rose and walked over, not even bothering to dust off his clothes. "Why'd you do that?" Sam asked.

"Do what?"

"Lie down with him?" Jo asked.

Sam shot her a glare. "Why did you get up just now?"

"Dean is about to awaken," Castiel said soberly. "He would be embarrassed to wake up under those circumstances, don't you think?" Sam nodded. "And as for lying down with him, the temperature on the floor is approximately seven degrees colder than the sofa, and fifteen degrees – or more – colder than the bed. I increased my body temperature to give him extra warmth."

"Very kind of you," Ellen said, giving her daughter a stern look.

At that moment Dean began to stir, and Sam had to hold himself back from rushing over to find out how his brother was. Dean wouldn't thank him for being that much of a ninny.

* * *

Dean awoke feeling very comfortable, not at all like the last time he'd slept on the floor. Then he'd been stiff and achy from the chill, but this morning he felt warm and relaxed. He rose and went to the bathroom, where it was shivery cold and dark. He hit the light switch, expecting the light to come on because the power had to be back on, otherwise he'd have been colder than the last time he'd slept on the floor. It didn't. He did his business and, after washing his hands in frigid water, elected not to take a shower. He hoped the insulation around the pipes held.

When he went out into the living room again, Sam had tidily folded up his blankets and put them with his pillow on the bed. Ellen had clearly been at breakfast-making for some time, because the apartment smelled of bacon. That was the other reason he'd thought the power was on, but when he looked at the counter, he saw the propane stove.

Cas stood by a window, gazing out, Jo sat at the table, finishing her food, but there was no sign of Sammy. "Where'd Sam go?" he asked.

"Good morning to you, too, Dean," Ellen said, and he grimaced. "He went downstairs with all of our phones to get the cars started and charge them. With three cars working, it shouldn't take too long."

Dean shrugged, nodding. That was true enough. "Did the power come on for a while last night?"

"Nope," Ellen said. "Radio says they should have it fixed by noon."

"For noon read three and you're probably closer," Dean remarked, and Ellen snorted agreement. Jo just rolled her eyes. "Well, I woke up toasty warm, and I just wondered why."

"Just lucky, I guess," Ellen said, but the reactions of the other two made Dean think twice about her answer. Jo glanced furtively at Cas, and the angel turned around, looking slightly alarmed. Cementing his doubt into certainty, Ellen rolled her eyes.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Cas decided it was too cold for you on the floor, so he gave you some extra heat," Ellen said.

Dean grinned. "Hey, thanks, Cas. That's a useful talent." The angel merely nodded.

Jo rolled her eyes. "Why don't you two just come clean?" she asked, giving them each a narrow-eyed look.

"I am not dirty," Cas said.

Dean had been about to ask what she was talking about, but he liked Cas's answer, even if it did indicate a misunderstanding of the idiom Jo was using. "And I'm not taking a shower in that bathroom. Do you know how cold that water is? Talk about shrinkage!" He shuddered dramatically for effect.

"That's not what I'm talking about. I –"

"Jo, I think I put some bread in the cupboard upstairs," Ellen said suddenly. "Why don't you go get it? I think I'd like some toast."

"Toast sounds great," Dean said.

Jo looked like she was about to protest, but when her mother raised an eyebrow, she went. When the door was shut, Cas turned a grateful look on Ellen, and Dean decided he'd had enough. "Exactly what was that all about?" he asked.

"Apparently Jo has conceived the notion that you and I are engaged in an intimate relationship, partially as a result of the manner in which I provided you with heat."

"And how was that?" Dean asked.

"I lay down beside you and raised my body temperature. This had the effect of causing you to . . . move closer. I believe Jo has misinterpreted the –"

"Excuse me!" Dean exclaimed, and he hurried upstairs. He did not want Jo going around with the notion that he was engaged in interspecies dating. He'd leave that one to Sam, thank you very much.

* * *

With all of the children gone, Ellen turned to Castiel. "Would you like some coffee?"

"No thank you. I do not require –"

"I know you don't require it, do you want it?" Ellen said.

Castiel blinked at her. "Is this a human norm? Offering beverages as a prelude to serious conversation?"

Ellen chuckled. "Yes, and it's often coffee."

"It is bitter and somewhat acidic."

"You can add cream and sugar to lighten the flavor," Ellen suggested, and she poured two cups off coffee, then put the non-dairy creamer and a bowl of sugar on the table.

Castiel took his coffee, seated himself and contemplated the choice of additions soberly. She sat across from him and waited for him not to be distracted. They didn't have unlimited time, but Dean was going to read Jo the riot act, and Sam had five phones to charge with only three cars. They had more than a couple of minutes.

After a few moments, when she didn't speak, Castiel looked up. "Please, say whatever it is you have to say."

Ellen moistened her lips, took a sip of coffee, and then cleared her throat. "That really was very sweet of you, to give Dean some extra warmth. It's not as if he would have frozen to death."

Castiel picked up the carton of creamer and poured some into the coffee. "He is not well," the angel replied without looking up.

"No, that's true," Ellen said. She watched Castiel taste the sugar, consider, and then put two teaspoons into the coffee. He stirred, and she smiled to see him working so very seriously at the act of doctoring his coffee. "This may seem an impertinent question," she started, and then she paused because he looked up unexpectedly.

"I do not smite people for impertinent questions," he said, and she couldn't tell at first that he was making a joke. The only sign was a very subtle twinkle in his eye.

She smiled. "How do you feel about Dean?"

Castiel tilted his head for a moment, clearly thinking about the question. "A year ago, in your understanding of time, I would have said that angels do not have those sorts of feelings."

"And what would you say now?"

"Now . . . I rebelled against Heaven because I believed in him." Castiel paused, his eyes distant. "He failed in the task my rebellion enabled him to attempt, but . . ." He sighed. "I may have waited too long. I did not dare act too soon, or Zachariah would have been able to stop us, but I think I acted too late."

"That kind of thing can be hard to judge," Ellen said sympathetically.

"Perhaps," Castiel said. "And at that time, I had limited experience in thinking for myself."

"What makes you think it was too late?" Castiel's brows knit. "I mean, is there something more than the fact that Dean wasn't able to . . . I'm really not sure what he was trying to do."

Castiel took in a deep breath, and Ellen wondered what benefit the angel derived from that, or if it was a mannerism borrowed from his human host. "I have studied Dean's memories of that night. I believe that if Dean had reached Sam before he had actually begun to kill Lilith, he might have been able to get through – if he could have gotten past Ruby. As it was, he almost got through." Castiel shook his head.

"Well, all of that tells me what you think of him," Ellen commented after a moment of silence between them. "How do you feel about him?"

"Are they not the same thing?" Castiel asked.

Ellen shrugged. "This is kind of a delicate subject, and I would never say anything about it in front of them, but do you really think that the way Dean feels about his brother is exactly the same as what he thinks of him?"

Castiel's eyes widened very slightly, as if it was a thought he hadn't considered before. "No, it's not." To Ellen's relief, he didn't go into detail about the difference. "And why do you wish to know how I feel?"

"It's not just idle curiosity, but I can't really tell you until I know," Ellen said. "Can you trust me on this?"

Once again Castiel fell silent for several moments. Ellen was beginning to feel the press of time. Sooner or later, Dean and Jo would come back, and she didn't want to be talking about this at that point. She kept that impatience off her face, but she had an uneasy feeling that Castiel didn't need the expressions on her face to know how she was feeling.

"I care very deeply for Dean," the angel said at long last. "If love means that I would die for him, then I love him."

The door opened and Dean walked in, Jo close behind him.. "You really need to get a grip, Jo. Not everyone who lies down together in bed – or on the floor – or on a cot – anywhere – is having sex. Or even necessarily wants to have sex. He's a dude!" He strode across the room, then turned around. "Wait, he's not even a dude. He's a dude condom." His brows wrinkled. "Or wait, no, that would be Jimmy." He blinked uneasily, seeming to lose track of the argument. "Which would make Cas the penis. Ick."

Castiel had turned to watch their conversation. "You have said that all angels were dicks," he observed.

Dean stared at him for fully five seconds, then shook his head. "And the angel is developing a sense of humor. This is one hell of a weird week."

"Could be weirder," Ellen said, wondering what he'd think if he knew her week included an angel declaring love for a human man. That conversation would either have to be finished later, or she'd never get another chance. Now was clearly out of the question, and she tamped down firmly on her frustration.

"What? You mean I could be playing drop the soap with a witch?" He shrugged. "That would be weird."

That hadn't been what she meant, but she wasn't going to explain just now.


	47. Chapter 47

Monday was boring, but that was in part because they couldn't go anywhere. They all got vastly tired of each other's company, finally withdrawing into corners to read. They didn't dare use the computers much, because they'd lose power fast and there was no way to recharge them. It was just lucky that they had Ellen, or he and Dean would have been eating cold Spaghettio's and huddling together for warmth. Though he supposed Dean might have asked for a propane stove – or just a trip to Miami – and Castiel would have provided. He certainly provided Dean with extra heat during the night again on Monday night.

Close quarters continued till Tuesday morning when the power suddenly came on. Jo hurried upstairs the minute it was up to make sure their heat was going, then came back down with her computer. It was still too cold for them to stay upstairs. They heard the snowplows around one in the afternoon, and Dean suddenly stood up. Apparently, he'd grown tired of the monotony. Dean liked to move around, get up on his feet and get involved in something physical every once in a while. "I'm going to go get us a turkey and . . . and stuff."

"Stuffing," Sam said absently, reading the news in Peoria, Illinois.

"No, I mean stuff," Dean retorted. "Stuffing, corn, potatoes. You know, Thanksgiving, homestyle."

"What do you know about a homestyle Thanksgiving, Dean?" Sam asked.

"I remember a couple," Dean said, and Sam's eyes widened. It had been years since Sam had even wondered about what life had been like for the Winchester family before they'd had a son named Sam. When they were kids, Dean had flatly refused to talk about it, and even as an adult, he mostly claimed he didn't remember. This was a chink in that armor, and Sam couldn't decide whether to follow it up or not. Sam swallowed and decided on not. Dean raised an eyebrow at him, as if aware of the internal debate, then he shrugged. "Besides I've seen TV and movies, Sammy. I know what it's about. And I'm sure there'll be a nice, motherly woman all ready to tell me everything I need if I ask her right."

"True enough," Ellen said. "Go. Get out and take Jo with you. It will do the both of you some good."

Dean looked dubious, but Jo stood up and stretched. "If I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to go out of my mind," she said, grabbing her coat. "Let's go."

Sam glanced at Castiel, who nodded and followed them out. That left him and Ellen alone together. That was fine with him. Ellen was easy to be quiet with. They stayed separately busy for the next couple of hours, and the quiet in the loft grew so profound that when his phone rang, he jumped. Taking a deep breath and giving Ellen an embarrassed look, he grabbed his phone and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Hello, this is Gina from St. Mark's Hospital." Sam's stomach plummeted. "Am I speaking to Dean Winchester?"

"No, this is his brother, Sam." It couldn't be something wrong with Dean if they were asking for him. "Dean's not here. What's up?"

"We'd like to discuss his test results with him. Can you have him give us a call to make an appointment?"

"Sure," Sam said.

"Thank you." She hung up and Sam pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it. An appointment? How was he going to get Dean to make an appointment, much less go to one?

"What was that?" Ellen asked.

"The hospital. They want to see Dean again – they have the test results." Sam grimaced and looked down at his keyboard, noticing sort of randomly that his M, S and A keys were completely blank. His W was mostly blank.

"Well, that's not a big deal, is it?"

"Actually, yes," Sam said. "Because getting Dean to agree to go will be kind of a challenge."

"If you need any help with that, you can always threaten him with me going mommy on him again."

Sam snorted. "Thanks. I may take you up on that."

* * *

Dean hated being driven, and he really hated being driven in a station wagon. Jo was driving, though, because Dean wasn't messing around with flashbacks. Conversation seemed to be lagging among the three of them, giving Dean time to think. More time than he wanted. He'd had a weird few weeks, and it didn't seem likely to be ending soon.

The back of the wagon was taken up with the fixings for a turkey dinner. The shopping trip had been simple. Jo knew what they needed, and Castiel had merely come along and remained quiet, almost like a bodyguard.

Jo was still sulking from the set down he'd given her yesterday, and every time she opened her mouth, Dean glared at her. He didn't want her getting into some weird debate about what it meant that Cas wanted to share his warmth with Dean. For one thing, it didn't mean anything but that Cas was a good friend. For another, he didn't . . . he just didn't want to have that conversation. Or listen to that conversation. Or be aware that the conversation was taking place.

When they were at the corner, Dean called so that Sam could be ready and waiting downstairs to help carry the stuff up. With all five of them carrying bags, it only took one trip to clear out the back of the station wagon. While they got the bags upstairs and started putting things away, Dean noticed that Sam seemed kind of on edge. Finally, he got tired of it and called him on it. "Sammy, what's eating you?"

Sam shrugged, glancing around as if he didn't want a full audience for what he had to say. "Nothing really, we just got a call from the hospital."

"The hospital?" Dean repeated, and cursed himself for falling into the trap. "What about?"

"They want you to come in next week to discuss your test results."

"Not happening," Dean said shortly. "Things to do, monsters to kill."

Sam's mood jumped from uneasy to agitated in a single bound. "Dean, you could be sick."

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean said. "Fit as a fiddle."

"Dean, you need to pay attention to your health."

"Sam, I'm fine. You just want to get me to the doctor so they can check my heart after the electric shock."

Sam shook his head. "We need to get the test results, Dean. What's the point of getting tests done if you're not going to look at the results?"

"I never wanted the damned tests in the first place," Dean retorted. "I only gave in so you wouldn't make a public scene in the hospital."

"Dean –"

"Can it, Sammy!" Then Dean made the fatal mistake of looking into Sam's eyes. His brother was gazing imploringly at him, and Dean shook his head. "No, dude, the puppy dog eyes aren't going to work this time."

Ellen let out a startled exclamation, staring at Sam from right next to Dean. "That is one hell of a weapon you have there."

Sam's eyebrows drew together, enhancing the expression. "What are you talking about?"

"Does he really not know?" Ellen asked.

"He acts like he doesn't," Dean replied, and Sam turned that devastating look on Dean again. He threw his hands up in the air. "Fine, Sammy, make me an appointment for next week. I'll go if I'm able to." He turned to go see if he could help in the kitchen.

"Dean, I just –"

Dean turned back. "That's all you're going to get, Sammy, and I'm not talking about it anymore."

Either Sam gave up, or someone stopped him, because Dean successfully escaped the conversation. The rest of the day was spent in preparation for the preparation for Thanksgiving. Dean had wanted to shop on Tuesday because the Wednesday before Thanksgiving was always insane at stores. He hadn't realized that it was a necessity. Ellen even got Cas chopping stuff up for dinner. He supposed it made sense. Since all three of them, plus Cas, would be at the clubs tomorrow night, she needed help getting things ready for her to manage on her own.

Late that night, after Ellen and Jo had retreated upstairs, Dean finally relaxed on the couch, lying sideways with his feet up. _Army CID_ was on, and he was watching with all of his attention that hadn't started drifting into dreaming. Sam shoved his feet over and sat down at the other end of the couch to read, and Cas stayed silent against the wall. Dean still wasn't sure why he was hanging out when they knew that the witch was dead.

It was just about eleven when his phone rang. Dean snagged it out of his pocket and looked at it. The number was unfamiliar, so he flipped it open and held it up to his ear. "Hello?"

"Dean, it's George." He sounded like he was in full voice again. Dean congratulated him on his recovery, feeling bad to be mildly disappointed, not so much that George was better but that he wasn't going to get to sing again. George thanked him, but then he got to the point. "Hey, Dean, Bill said you were great, and I thought maybe you could join us tomorrow night since you missed out on your last two opportunities."

Dean's eyes widened. "Seriously?" he asked, glancing at Sammy. His brother's brows drew together like he didn't know what was going on. Maybe he hadn't been paying attention. "That would be cool."

"We'll need to rehearse together a little. I was thinking we could do some stuff with harmony, but we'll need to try that without an audience first."

"Sounds good," Dean said. "When and where?"

"The club, around three tomorrow?"

"I'll be there with bells on," Dean said with a grin, and they disconnected.

"Bells?" Sam asked, his tone sardonic. "You'll be where with bells on?"

Dean gave him a defensive look. "It's something that Martin says," he explained. "I thought it would make me fit in better."

"Just don't use it in the hunter crowd, or someone's liable to think you've lost your marbles. Where will you be?"

"Oh, that was George. He wants me to sing again tomorrow night, but he thinks we'll need to rehearse first so we don't suck."

Sam nodded slowly. "Where and when?" he asked with a hint of impatience.

"In the club, at three, with the pipes," Dean replied whimsically. His brother's brows drew together again, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Good night, Sammy," he said, getting up and turning off the TV.

* * *

Once she was reasonably sure that Sam and Dean were asleep, Ellen went back downstairs and let herself in, ready with an excuse about having left her book. Both boys were dead to the world, and Cas stood quietly at the foot of the bed, clearly on hand to deflect bad dreams.

After they'd gone upstairs, Jo had filled her ears with the subject of how Cas was clearly in love with Dean but either didn't understand the emotion or hadn't admitted it to himself yet. She'd also been most eloquent on the subject of Dean's utter obtuseness. While Ellen agreed that Dean was fairly obtuse on emotional matters, she wasn't sure she believed that Castiel was in love with him. She wasn't convinced either way because she, unlike Jo, didn't rely wholly on intuition on such matters.

Castiel glanced towards her when she came in, and she gestured towards the table in the hope that he would understand her desire to sit and talk with him. Not only did he head in that direction, he poured two cups off coffee and offered one to her. "Our earlier conversation was interrupted," he said quietly.

She sat down with him, grateful that he wasn't as male as the other two occupants of the room. "Yes, it was."

"You said you would tell me why you asked the question once I had answered it."

She nodded. "I did." She pursed her lips. "Do you know the difference between loving someone and being in love with someone?" she asked.

He tilted his head. "Angels who have not fallen do not participate in romantic relationships," he said soberly. "I know that humans differentiate between the two concepts, but I do not truly understand why."

Ellen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There are all kinds of love, Cas. A parent's love for their child, the love between siblings, the love between friends, and it's all extremely subjective."

"I see." He contemplated briefly. "I have only known love for an individual for a relatively short time. I have no basis for comparison."

"You can share people's thoughts, though, right?"

Castiel nodded. "But I rarely understand anything but the simplest of emotions. Fear. Anger. Joy. Otherwise they are too deeply complex."

Ellen considered this. "So, do angels not . . . don't they feel love for each other?" she asked.

"They can," Castiel said. "I simply have never . . . those I spent time with were my comrades in arms. Friendship was discouraged by our superiors."

That sounded pretty bleak. "How do you feel about Sam?" she asked.

"That question does not have a simple answer," Castiel said. "But are you referring to . . . how much I care about him?"

"Yes," Ellen said. "We all get frustrated and angry and the like with people we care about."

"Initially, I cared about him because Dean cared about him, but I have come to appreciate him for his own merits over the past several months."

Ellen nodded contemplatively. "Have you ever been physically attracted to anyone?"

Castiel tilted his head. "Yes. I have. Or perhaps it was Jimmy. I can't be sure because they were sensations I had never before experienced."

"Do you mind if I ask who you were attracted to?"

"Her name was Chastity," Cas said. "Dean took me to a den of iniquity because he said that iniquity was one of the perks of rebellion." That was sure an odd sentence to hear coming out of an angel's mouth. "She was quite beautiful, but very sad."

"Sad?" Ellen asked, a little startled.

"Her father had left her family when she was quite young, and she blamed herself for that abandonment. However, his reasons had nothing whatsoever to do with her, and I thought if I told her that, she would be happier, but she wasn't. She grew extremely angry and began to throw things at me."

"She told you that?" Ellen asked.

"No. I could see it in her mind, and –"

"Hell, Cas, you never talk about something like that with a woman unless she brings it up herself. She probably thought you were some kind of crazed stalker."

"As Martin thinks I am to Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Right." Ellen shook her head. "You really are lost out here, aren't you? Are all the angels this clueless about human emotions?"

"I don't know," Cas said. He got an odd, long-suffering look on his face. "Dean tries to teach me sometimes, but other times he simply lets off with a stream of idiomatic references that I fail completely to grasp. Sam often wishes to explain the background behind the references, when all I really want is to know what was meant in the first place." He sighed. "You are much easier to talk to."

"I'm older, possibly wiser, and I'm being careful not to use too much slang. I'm also a woman, which makes me more likely to talk about emotional issues than those two macho boys."

"Chastity was a woman," Castiel said.

"Ah, yes, but she was expecting one thing from you, and she got something else entirely. You started talking about stuff you shouldn't have known about if you were just an ordinary human, and it scared her."

"But I am not an ordinary human," Castiel said.

"She couldn't know that, and it's not like you can go around announcing your identity as an angel of the Lord to everyone." She snorted. "They'd lock you up."

"They would not be able to lock me up," Castiel replied, his brows knitting.

"But they'd try," Ellen said. "Cas, we humans see we they want to see, and we believe what we want to believe. Besides, you don't look like what anyone here would identify as an angel. You look like . . ." She trailed off, trying to think of something that might have meaning for him.

"A holy tax accountant?" Cas offered with that twinkle in his eye again. "That's what Dean called me the first time he saw me."

Ellen stifled a giggle. She could almost hear Dean saying it, that ironic lilt to his voice. "Yes, only you don't look particularly holy. You're rumpled and you've got a five o'clock shadow. You look like an office worker who's put in a long day of work and is heading either home or out for some drinks."

"You were expecting a halo?" Castiel asked seriously, and Ellen couldn't tell if he was pulling her leg.

"Well, it would help elevate the overall appearance, but even so, the trench –" She broke off, because Cas's head had begun to develop a distinct nimbus of light. "Don't do that!" she hissed, and it went away.

"Did it not help?" Castiel asked.

"Oh, it helped, but you'd just make most people faint dead away or think they were going nuts. Cas, no one is going to believe you're an angel right off the bat, not even hunters. You'll never convince most ordinary folks. They don't want to know that there's something more out there, good or bad."

"I see." Castiel shrugged. "I cannot be other than I am."

"No, I get that," Ellen said. "But the whole reason I brought this up was that people are going to misinterpret your relationship with Dean a lot."

"Martin and Jo both think I love him, right?" Cas asked.

"Well, I can't speak for Martin, but yes, Jo does."

"She's not wrong," Cas said. "I fail to see the misinterpretation."

"Jo thinks you're _in love_ with Dean." Castiel tilted his head, and she remembered that he didn't really understand the difference. "Are you physically attracted to Dean?"

"I don't know. I never considered the matter."

"Did dancing with him make you feel good? Did it turn you on?"

"Are you asking if it made me feel lust for him? Sexual desire?" Ellen nodded, a little perturbed by the bluntness, though she supposed she should have expected it. "No, I don't think so."

"You'd know," Ellen said, and she hoped she was right. "Do you feel incomplete without him?"

"I am not complete without him," Castiel said, and Ellen almost choked on her coffee. "He has part of my grace in him, helping to sustain him and heal the damage Hell dealt to his spirit."

"He what?" Ellen asked, startled and faintly appalled.

"In order to put him back in his body and bring him back to life as a whole person, I had to give him a piece of my grace. Otherwise his soul would have remained damaged and partially demonic. Had he gone on, that would not have been necessary, for the process would have purified him, but he had to be returned to the world."

Ellen gaped for a second, then got down to brass tacks. "Are you saying that there's a piece of you . . . inside Dean?" Castiel nodded. "And his soul was damaged?"

"He was in Hell," Castiel said as if it was obvious. "That's what Hell does. It destroys souls."

"And demons are the destroyed souls of those who went to Hell." Ellen didn't much like the implication of that.

"Every demon was once a human soul," Castiel said, nodding.

"And Dean was partway there?" Ellen glanced over at the sleeping lump on the bed, horrified.

"An ordinary human, treated as Dean was, would have turned much more swiftly," Castiel said, and she got the impression he was defending Dean.

"Preaching to the choir, Cas," she said. "He's a remarkable kid. So . . . you're not whole?"

Castiel seemed to look inward. "I was not, but I believe that I am now. After my return from death, I no longer felt . . ." He pursed his lips and then shrugged. "I had a full tank of gas." She smiled at the metaphor. "Nevertheless, I still feel a connection to the part of me that I gave to Dean."

Ellen took a moment to absorb that. "But emotionally, do you feel complete without Dean?"

"Most of these deeply felt emotions are very new to me," Castiel said. "I don't know how to answer the question." He glanced over at Dean himself. "When you asked if I felt lust for Dean . . . I did feel a pleasant sort of tingling. Is that what you meant?"

Ellen blinked. "It could be related," she said, feeling a little weak. "Anyway, if you ever want to talk about any of this stuff, please, feel free to seek me out."

"Thank you," he said. "And good night."

"Good night." She rinsed out their coffee cups, put them in the sink and went upstairs to bed. He had given her a lot to think about, but she still didn't really know the answer to the question she'd gone down there with. There was undoubtedly a closeness between the two, but she had no idea what that closeness truly meant.

The next morning passed quickly. Ellen kept the kids busy helping out. She ended up sending Jo and Sam out for some halfway decent table linens and something they could use for decorations. Castiel seemed to be bemused by her tendency to treat him as one of the kids, but he didn't object. As far as she could tell, neither Dean nor Sam found it peculiar, but from some looks her daughter had been shooting her, she suspected she'd hear about it the next time they were alone. She kept an eye on the interactions among Sam, Dean and Cas, trying to see if she could detect any signs of romantic attachment. It was a tall order. It was clear that Sam was less comfortable with Cas than Dean was, but that didn't mean anything.

Finally, feeling a little like she was going to explode from needing to talk to someone about this insanity, she conceived a plan she figured would be acceptable to everyone. She found a private moment and called Bobby.

"Singer Salvage," said a pleasant, feminine voice. "Tiffany speaking, can I help you?"

"I was calling to talk to Bobby," Ellen said. "Is he there?"

"Sure." She heard the phone being placed on the table, and a moment later, Bobby picked up.

"Hello?"

"Tiffany?" Ellen asked. "New girlfriend?"

"Hardly, she's Dean's age. No, she's my legs around the yard these days."

Ellen nodded. "I'm glad you have someone who can do that for you. Look, Bobby, do you have set plans for Thanksgiving?"

"Well, I have a turkey breast in the freezer and a couple of baking potatoes, so, sort of. Why?"

"How would you like to have Thanksgiving with us?" she asked. "Dean got in the holiday mood yesterday, so we've got all the trimmings."

"It's kind of a drive, Ellen. I'd pretty much have to start now."

"I think Cas could be persuaded to bring you," she said.

"Angel taxi?" Bobby said incredulously. "Ellen, don't be crazy."

"I have a feeling Dean will think of it partway through the morning tomorrow and suggest it, so this at least gives you a bit of warning. Otherwise Cas could show up randomly in the middle of the day and carry you off."

There was a brief silence on the other end, then Bobby cleared his throat. "Is that how things are?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that, but not on the phone. I was going to suggest that I send Cas to pick you up right around when the kids all leave for work. You and I can have a nice chat this evening, and we can figure out where to bed you down, then you can have Thanksgiving with us."

"Okay, I think I can do that, so long as the angel is amenable."

"He has a name, Bobby," Ellen said, a little startled by his tone. "Don't you like Castiel?" Silence hung heavy on the other end, and she cleared her throat. "Bobby?"

"I don't mind him," Bobby said hastily. "Call me if it isn't going to go through. Otherwise, I'll be ready at, what, eight?"

"Eight-thirty," Ellen replied. "See you then."

Around noon, Dean disappeared into the bathroom for about an hour. Sam didn't seem very concerned, which startled Ellen. "What's your brother up to?" she asked.

"Getting ready for his rehearsal," Sam said, sounding put upon.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, George is back tonight, and they're both going to sing, so I guess they need to rehearse." Sam snorted. "Why he needs to start getting ready this early is beyond me, but I'm a simple mortal."

A moment later, Jo identified something that they'd forgotten. Grabbing Sam, she took off to the store again. Ellen kept rolling out pie dough, and Castiel was studiously peeling potatoes. She'd just finished putting the filling in the cherry pie when Dean emerged from the bathroom. His neck was several shades paler than his face and his shoulder, and a faintly pink mark could be seen where the hickey resided. "I can't figure this out. How do you put on make up to conceal bruises?"

Ellen blinked at him. "Dean, I think you're out of luck there, kid. It's not going to be easy to cover those up."

Dean took in a deep breath and looked away before turning back to her. "Then what am I going to wear?" he asked, and his dismay was plainly evident.

Ellen smiled at him and put her hand on his shoulder. "Well, for now, just grab one of your turtlenecks, it'll have to do. We'll come up with something for you this evening, never you mind. Go clean yourself up again, and get ready for your rehearsal." Dean nodded, went and dug some clothes out of his bag, then disappeared back into the bathroom.

Ellen put the top on the cherry pie, then put it in the oven with two empty crusts. Then she started mixing up the filling for the pumpkin pie. Dean came out dressed in a dark green turtleneck that made his eyes look dreamy. The eyeliner helped a bit. "How do I look, Aunt Ellen?"

"Gorgeous," she said with a grin. "And very gay."

"Good." He put on a pair of sunglasses that only served to enhance the look. "Cas, you coming?"

"I am," Castiel said somberly. "Do you not wish to know how I think you look?"

Ellen blinked and, suppressing a grin, she raised her eyebrows at Dean. He just looked puzzled. "Sure, Cas, how do you think I look?"

"Tired."

Dean looked blankly at him, then his face fell. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, and he went back into the bathroom. Ellen clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Neither of them would take well to her hilarity.

"Have I said something wrong?" Castiel asked.

Ellen brought herself under control and her voice had only the slightest tremor when she explained. "Among humans, at least among American humans, saying someone looks 'tired' is code for saying they look like crap."

Castiel shook his head. "He looks most comely, but he does look tired." He pursed his lips. "Should I tell him?" he asked. Ellen shrugged helplessly, and the angel walked over to the bathroom door, which Dean had left open. "Dean, you are most comely."

A voice from inside the bathroom made Ellen convulse with silent laughter. "Dude, I don't even know what that means."

"It means you are attractive," Castiel said. "Physically pleasing."

"Dude, have you been talking to Jo?"

"Why would I speak with Jo? And what relevance would it have at this time?" Castiel shook his head again. "Dean, I am simply attempting to clear up a misunderstanding. When I said tired, it was not code for crap."

Dean pushed past Castiel and looked over at Ellen, who somehow managed to present a calm facade. "You translating again?"

"It seems the pair of you need that service a fair amount. Maybe I should start charging you."

"So I can pay you with my fake credit cards?" Dean asked with a tired grin. "Fine, Cas, I accept your apology. Let's go."

The door shut on the angel earnestly explaining that he had not apologized. Ellen sank onto the sofa and let herself go, burying her face in her hands and laughing hysterically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stuff about Castiel's Grace healing Dean's soul came from head canon discussed at length between my beta and I. My beta, for those of who who don't know, is Catslynw on this site.
> 
> Also . . . do I have to beg for reviews on every chapter? Pretty please with chocolate on top? Or the topping of your choice?


	48. Chapter 48

Sam watched the Impala pull away and wished he was going with them. Not that he thought he'd have anything to do at a band rehearsal, and not that Dean would ever have let him. For all Sam knew, Castiel would go invisible during the rehearsal so as not to draw attention to himself.

"That's weird," Jo said, and Sam turned to see that she was watching them go, too. Sam shrugged and started into the building, lugging the bag of newspapers up the stairs. Jo followed him. "Your brother is driving off alone with his angel, and you're okay with that?"

"He's going to rehearsal," Sam replied.

"What are they going to rehearse?" Jo asked, and her tone loaded a whole lot of extra meaning on the term.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Band practice with George and Bill," he explained. "You really do have this relationship thing on the brain."

"Come on, Sam, you can't honestly tell me you haven't wondered," Jo said.

Sam ignored her and opened the door. Of course he'd wondered, especially lately, but he wasn't getting into a discussion of that fact with Jo. Dean would never forgive him. When he got into the apartment, he saw Ellen sitting on the sofa, her face in her hands, and her shoulders shaking. "Ellen, what's wrong?" he asked, dropping the bag by the door and hurrying across to kneel in front of her. He heard Jo exclaim behind him.

Ellen looked up, and while there were tears running down her cheeks, she was smiling. "Those two are a riot, you know that?" she said.

Sam stared at her. "Seriously? Dean and Castiel?"

"Oh yeah," Ellen said with feeling.

"What did they do?" Jo asked, looking suspicious.

Ellen shrugged. "They were just very them," she said, rising, and Sam found it deeply startling that anyone besides him could know Dean and Cas's reactions to each other well enough to say that. "Let's get going on tomorrow's dinner," Ellen continued. "I'm not going to have any help from the three of you tomorrow morning while you sleep off your late night, so I need you to do as much as you can now."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said. The whole family holiday thing wasn't really his scene, but he'd play his part since Dean clearly wanted it.

After they'd been working awhile, Ellen said, "Oh, either of you got any ideas for what Dean can wear tonight? He tried covering the hickey on his neck up with make-up, but it really won't work."

"He's got turtlenecks," Sam said, not sure what she meant.

"He wants something a little more . . . you know," Ellen said, shrugging. "Sexy."

"I am no judge of what looks sexy on my brother," Sam said, mildly disturbed by the whole idea. "For one thing, he's a guy, and for another, he's my brother."

"I've got an idea," Jo said, and Sam glanced over at her to see her eyes alight. "I'll be back in a minute." She took off running out of the apartment, and they could both hear her feet on the stairs.

"She does know that nothing either of you could wear would ever fit Dean, right?" Sam asked, giving Ellen a dubious look.

"We'll see," Ellen replied enigmatically, and Sam wondered what was up. Had they bought fake gay Dean a present? He shook his head and kept chopping walnuts. Ellen was making something she called seafoam salad. Sam wasn't sure how the walnuts fit in, but he was game.

When Jo came back downstairs, she had a green bundle in her hands, but she didn't show it to him. Ellen just nodded like it was what she'd expected and kept working on pies. Sam wondered how many people she was planning on feeding.

* * *

It was close on seven when Dean finally came back, and Sam had been pacing for at least thirty minutes by then. Ellen had managed to restrain him from calling, but she was glad Dean was back, because that wasn't going to last much longer.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed when his brother came through the door. "How are you?"

"Fit as a fiddle and ready for love," Dean replied, and Castiel tilted his head at the elder Winchester, clearly puzzled. Ellen was hard pressed to keep from bursting into giggles. The comedy duo of Cas and Dean seemed to be having a deleterious effect on her gravity. Dean twinkled at his brother. "You?"

"Fine," Sam said, but his eyes were anxious as he gazed at Dean. "You sure you're –"

"You finish that question and you're going to have a bruise to explain," Dean promised, and Sam broke off. Before the conversation could devolve into a fight, Jo came up with the green shirt she'd chosen for Dean.

"I understand you were having trouble deciding what to wear tonight," she said. Dean nodded, and she tossed her little bundle of green fabric to him. "Go in the bathroom and try it on."

"What is it?" he asked, and she started pushing him towards the bathroom. "Just try it on, okay?" She shoved him inside and shut the door behind him. Then she turned around with a mischievous grin and walked back to stand beside Ellen. "I hope he comes out even if he hates it, I really want to see."

Castiel looked mildly curious, Sam frustrated, and Ellen felt a little schizophrenic. This had really been a weird week. A weird Thanksgiving. After several moments had passed, Jo marched over and pounded on the door. "Are you coming out?" she demanded.

Sam had started to look worried. He took one step towards the door before Dean responded to Jo's question. "Give me a minute, I'm going to show you the whole effect. Actually, someone grab my black jeans, would you?"

Ellen chuckled and fetched the relevant piece of clothing. Pushing Jo gently out of the way, she opened the door a bare crack and handed it through. That kid deserved all the fun he could get.

They stood back and waited, and finally Dean emerged, posing for them coyly. He was wearing the skin tight black jeans with his belt, and on top he was wearing Jo's oversized moss green turtleneck sweater. Ellen had been trying to convince her to get rid of it for years, not because there was anything wrong with it, but because it was so baggy that it made her look shapeless and dowdy. She grinned at her daughter. All that time fussing was worth it just to see Dean wearing it now. On Dean it was anything but oversized. It hugged every curve of his chest and back, and his six-pack was visible from time to time as he moved. Nevertheless, it covered him completely from the top of his neck to his wrists, and he had it tucked in. The color made his eyes stand out like headlights. He'd even done the slightly more intense make-up he wore for the club to give them the whole picture. He looked totally hot and totally gay.

"Dude, you are not seriously wearing that!" Sam exclaimed.

"Why not?" Dean asked. "It's perfect."

"It's girls' clothes."

"And I'm supposed to be gay," Dean retorted, and Sam stared at him in apparent surprise. "Besides, it's a turtleneck. It doesn't have those little tucks to enhance boobs, or frills or anything that makes it look girly."

"Those tucks are called darts, Dean," Sam said irritably.

"I do not get why people keep thinking that I'm the gay one," Dean said. "You're the one who knows about peplums and darts and crap. Anyway, it's not even pink. No one but you, me and the lamppost will know that it's a girl's shirt."

"And everyone who is present at this moment," Castiel pointed out.

Dean turned to him. "That's kind of what I meant. It's a figure of speech."

"I see." He tilted his head. "Then we are the lamppost." He gestured at himself and Ellen and Jo.

Dean stared at the angel for a second, then turned back to Sam. "The point is, no one at the club will know it's a girl's shirt unless one of us tells them."

"Actually, I think it's unisex," Jo said. "And . . ." She paused, shaking her head. "It does give across the impression you want. Boy, oh boy does it give the impression you want. Oo la la."

"That impression was designed to lure in the serial killer," Sam protested. "Cas got him. He's dead. No more fake gay Dean needed." It was an interesting point. Ellen turned to Dean, curious to see what he had to say.

Rolling his eyes, the older Winchester brother heaved a sigh. "We have a cover, Sammy. And paying jobs based on it. I'm not dumping it just like that." He shrugged. "Besides, it's kind of fun."

"You're a tease, Dean," Sam said dourly.

"I'd better change or I'll spill something on this shirt," he said, and he disappeared back into the bathroom.

"I'll be really glad when we get out of here," Sam said, and he walked over to his computer and sat down. Ellen wondered if he was continuing his searches on known sexual predators.

Dean emerged after a while and pulled out a book to read, dropping down on the couch. Ellen had been making her way through a John Grisham novel, so she got it from upstairs and sat down beside his feet. Jo got her computer and started surfing. Castiel just stood quietly.

"Dean?" Sam said.

"What, Sammy?" Dean asked, not looking up.

"Come here, I want to show you something."

"If it's on your laptop, bring your laptop over here." Ellen's position enabled her to see Dean hide a grin behind his book. "I'm feeling kind of sore and creaky today."

Sam turned around, glowering at him. "Then it will do you good to get up and move around. Come look."

Laughing, Dean got up and put his book down. Ellen glanced at the title and saw that it was _The Edge_ by Dick Francis. He walked over to the computer and bent down over Sam's shoulder. "What is it, Sammy?"

"A rogue's gallery of known sex offenders who go after adult males in the Salt Lake area," Sam said. "Is the guy who kissed you here?"

"Sam, I told you to leave that alone," Dean growled.

"Look, Dean, if he's here it means he's been arrested for sexual assault, so do you really think you should protect him?"

Dean pursed his lips, but he looked at the pictures Sam had tiled on his screen. And then the next screen. And then the one after that. "Dude, I have never seen any of those guys before. Okay?"

"Seriously?" Sam asked.

"Seriously. Get over it."

"Dean, you were assaulted," Sam said. "Who knows how many guys this bastard has taken advantage of? I'm sure you could have fought him off, but maybe not all of them could."

"I didn't have to," Dean retorted. "He kissed, got a phone call and left."

"Dean –"

"It was an aggressive pass, nothing more. If you'd found him in the police files, I might have gone along with it, but you didn't. Leave it be."

"Dean, it's not that simple. Most assaults are never reported. You know that as well as I do, especially with men. This guy could be out there –"

"Sam, let it go. He's not the serial killer. He's not mystical. He's not our job."

Ellen could tell that Sam was practically grinding his teeth together, but he didn't say anything more. After that, they all settled back to what they'd been doing, but there was a palpable tension between Sam and Dean. Ellen wondered what the norm was between the boys these days. They seemed a lot more comfortable together now than they had when she'd run into them in [town War screwed with, my brain wants to call it Harmony], but moments like this made her wonder.

Shortly thereafter, the kids started getting ready. She caught Cas and said, "Is there any chance you could go get Bobby real fast?"

"Is there a need for Bobby?" Castiel asked, looking puzzled.

"Tomorrow is Thanksgiving," she said, and Cas just stared at her. "It's a holiday where family and friends get together. Bobby will be alone if he doesn't join us."

Castiel gazed silently at her for a moment, and Ellen had a feeling he could see her other motives as well. She doubted he would object. He abruptly vanished. Ellen gaped at the empty spot for a moment.

"Hey, you scared off my angel!" Dean exclaimed, sounding annoyed. She turned, startled, then saw the twinkle in his eye. "What's up?"

"I asked him to go get Bobby. That way I have company tonight, and he can join us for Thanksgiving tomorrow."

"That's great!" Dean said, and then he smiled. For once it was a simple, uncomplicated expression that warmed her to the core.

Cas came back with Bobby, and Ellen withdrew a little to let the boys make much of their old friend. In many ways Bobby was a better father to them than John had ever been. She wondered how John would react to seeing them now.

When they'd all gone, Bobby rolled himself over to where she sat on the couch and said, "So, what's up?"

Ellen sighed and gave him a weak smile. "Castiel loves Dean," she said, and Bobby's eyes widened.

"Could you be a little more specific with your verb?" he asked irritably.

"That's the verb he used," Ellen replied.

"Fine, could you break it out into Latin for me?"

Ellen closed her eyes and pursed her lips. "He did say that dancing with Dean gave him a pleasant tingly feeling."

"When the hell was he dancing with Dean?" Bobby exclaimed. "Or better yet, why the hell was he dancing with Dean?"

"Cas was at the bar and he was about to get thrown out, but Dean needed to talk to him, so he dragged him out onto the dance floor and told him to do what the other guys he could see were doing."

Bobby blinked at her. "That could have been pretty dangerous," he said.

"Well, apparently Dean was annoyed with him later for discussing the firmness of his buttocks."

"Come again?" Bobby said, eyebrows up to his hat.

"Apparently, according to Sam, they did sort of a lambada on the dance floor. It was . . . intense, from what I understand."

"Don't you think Sam might be overreacting?" Bobby asked.

Ellen considered this. "No, I don't think so," she said. "I witnessed some of that in action, and this was different."

"You saw Sam overreact? To what?"

"Dean's announcement that . . ." Ellen paused. She wasn't sure Dean would want Bobby to know about that. "Crap, this is getting into areas that I wasn't told were confidential, but that are somewhat sensitive." She bit her lip, trying to decide if she had exigent circumstances.

Bobby waited for a whole ten seconds, then cleared his throat. She looked over at him. "Did he tell Sam that he's bi?" Bobby asked.

Ellen's eyes widened. "You knew about that?" she asked.

"Sure," Bobby said. "So, Sam freaked out, huh?"

"A little."

"How did Jo react?" Bobby asked.

"She doesn't think he's a waffler, and I guess from her point of view a person can only be gay, straight or a waffler. Dean's explanation made sense to _me_ , but . . ." She shrugged.

"What was his explanation?"

"That he takes his fun where he finds it," she said, paraphrasing slightly. "And that it doesn't always come packaged in pink."

"That's . . . not a bad explanation. Your daughter can be a little –"

"Black and white?" Ellen suggested. "Tell me about it. But the point here is that I'm not honestly sure what's going on between Cas and Dean. They're undoubtedly exceptionally close, but there's a vibe there. Jo is convinced they've got a thing going, but I'm not so sure."

"Dean has issues about cross species sex," Bobby said. "I don't think it's real likely."

"Well, Cas is getting less and less cross species," Ellen replied.

"He's still an angel," Bobby retorted.

"He's trying to fit in, Bobby, and he's being very solicitous of Dean."

"That could just be the circumstances."

"Did you know he gave up a piece of his grace to bring Dean back from Hell?"

Bobby choked on a mouthful of beer. "He did what?"

"That's what I thought. Weird, huh?"

"Why?"

"He said it was required. It's still healing the damage Hell did to Dean's soul."

Bobby stared at her unblinking for a long moment. "I'd wondered about that. He couldn't have been in Hell for that long with such intense attention paid to him without some damage taking place. That reassures me some, knowing how it was done – and that it's not done."

"It reassures you?" Ellen asked incredulously. "To know that his soul was partially converted to demon?"

"I knew it had to be," Bobby said. "He was tormented in Hell for forty years, and –"

"I thought it was thirty," Ellen interjected.

"You really think Dean stopped feeling tortured after he gave in? Or that it was all beer and pretzels afterwards?"

"Of course not, but –" Ellen broke off, shaking her head at her own stupidity. "Of course not."

Bobby nodded. "And frankly, I'm sure a lot of the damage done after the first thirty years was from Dean's own guilt. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Castiel has a piece of his grace inside Dean – still, after all this time."

"Yes. He said he doesn't feel complete without Dean, even though his resurrection seems to have regenerated the missing piece of his grace. Look, I'm just a little concerned. Castiel has kind of a . . . he's got an intense manner, and he spends a lot of time staring at Dean. It makes people uneasy."

"Well, I wouldn't be shocked if they did develop a relationship, but I don't expect it or anything," Bobby said. "What do you see as the problem here, Ellen?"

"I don't know." Ellen shrugged. "I don't like Jo's reaction, which is that Dean isn't being sufficiently respectful to this angel at the same time as she thinks they're sleeping together. Castiel is decidedly attached to Dean, and he makes decisions based on whether Dean would or wouldn't like it. He went to Vermont just to get ice cream for Dean, for heaven's sake. Twice. Don't you think that's odd?"

"Put it in perspective, Ellen," Bobby said. "That's just about as hard for an angel as it is for Sam to run down to the corner store. Hell, it's probably a lot easier."

"Okay, fine, but the point is, he's doing it."

Bobby shrugged. "So Dean's winning," he said, then he took another long pull on his beer.

"Winning? Winning what?"

"This little battle of wills they've been having," Bobby said.

"And you think that's a good thing?" Ellen demanded.

"I think it was inevitable from the moment Castiel told Heaven to go screw itself."

"But doesn't it make you nervous?" Ellen asked.

"It makes me all kinds of nervous," Bobby replied. "But there's not anything I can do to change it, so I don't see any point in worrying about it."

Ellen considered that point and shrugged. "I guess you're right." She sighed. "I just wish those boys could have something resembling a normal life."

"It's been too late for that since the moment a demon stepped into Sam's nursery."

Ellen sighed again. "Come on into the kitchen. I need to check on the pies."

* * *

Singing with George was cool, but because this was strictly short term, George had agreed to let him have a few solo numbers. When they sang 'Renegade,' Dean saw Sam's head come up, eyes wide, and knew that they did sound as good as Bill seemed to think they did. They did a couple of other numbers together, and then he sang 'Kryptonite' by 3 Doors Down. After that one, George waved at him to do another, so he finished the set with 'Bad Things' by Jace Everett. He sang it at Cas, just to screw with everyone's heads.

They took a break, and George caught Dean by the arm. "Hey, you know, my voice is feeling kind of . . . iffy. Would you mind doing most of the night yourself, and I'll just chime in on songs that need harmony?"

"No problem," Dean said. "Sorry you're not better, though."

George shrugged. "I'm just glad I've got someone to fall back on." He patted Dean on the back and went over to talk to Bill. Dean headed towards the bar. People in the crowd patted his back and made complimentary remarks, and then two guys moved apart in front of him and he saw the guy.

The kiss guy stood no more than ten feet off, staring straight at Dean. He felt his heart start to beat faster. His palms suddenly felt sweaty, and he stopped dead in the middle of the dance floor. The canned music hadn't yet started, so no one was dancing, but people jostled around him and around the guy, who also wasn't moving. Their eyes locked together. Dean couldn't even look away to ask for help from Sam or Cas. He just stared at the man, trapped. Then the stranger started moving towards him, and the bottom fell out of Dean's stomach.

A song started playing over the speakers, a song Dean didn't know. The man smiled, his eyes full of warmth and a kind of hunger that made Dean's insides quiver. As he approached, Dean tried to force himself to move, but he was frozen solid. When he reached Dean, the stranger put his hands on Dean's shoulders, stroking down his arms to take hold of his hands. Drawing Dean after him, he moved deeper onto the dance floor, amid the other men who leaned close to their partners and swayed. Dean felt powerless to stop himself, following Felix onto the dance floor, his heart thudding in his chest, his skin tingling with the other man's touch.

Felix stopped and pulled Dean close, draping Dean's arms up over his shoulders before placing his own arms around Dean's waist and closing the distance between them. Words from the song penetrated Dean's freaked thoughts as he swayed with the other man, their bodies pressed together. _And I would be the one to hold you down, kiss you so hard._ Felix put his hands on Dean's buttocks, gently kneading, sending shivers of pleasure to Dean's groin. He took Dean's ear lobe between his teeth, nibbling gently. Dean could feel the other man's body stirring, his penis swelling to erection.

Dean's own hands were flat on Felix's back, where Felix had placed them. He flexed them and started to pull away, but Felix drew back just enough to fix him again with that intense gaze. Dean's attempts to escape stilled. He continued to move with Felix, their bodies rubbing gently together as they moved in time to the music.

Dean couldn't understand it. The serial killer was dead. The serial killer was the witch. The witch was Felix. The logic was unassailable. _I'll take your breath away and after I'd wipe away the tears. Just close your eyes dear._ Dean obeyed the song without thinking and it made him feel even less in control.

Felix's hands grew more intense on Dean's ass, first pulling him close then relaxing, rhythmically pressing their dicks together, and Dean was forcibly reminded of his reflection that dancing was like having sex, only with clothes on. His breath began to come in short gasps, and he didn't know what to think. He wanted it to stop, but his body wanted more. Felix's hands slid up his back and cupped Dean's head. Dean opened his eyes reflexively. For a long moment, they just stared into one another's eyes and the words of the song filled Dean's brain. _Nothing stands between us here, and I won't be denied._ Felix released him suddenly and stepped back, but Dean didn't move away. He just stood there, staring at the other man.

With one hand, Felix reached up and stroked Dean's cheek, smiling that hungry, creepy smile, and Dean felt utterly enslaved to the other man's every whim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics from "Possession" by Sarah McLachlan, performed by Evans Blue.
> 
> Comments are love. Even negative comments tell me that someone's out there reading, not just clicking, saying 'meh' and then moving on.


	49. Chapter 49

Sam put the cup of tea and honey on the end of the bar where Dean usually showed up, but after a couple of moments, he still hadn't come. After the first song of the canned music, he realized that Dean still hadn't shown, so he looked around and saw Dean standing stock still, eyes wide, the muscles of his neck tense. He was staring at someone Sam couldn't quite see, and he looked totally freaked. Then there was a movement, and Sam realized that what he'd taken for something behind Dean was actually a man's arm – his hand seemed to be caressing Dean's face.

Sam put the bottles down and hurried around the bar, heading straight for his brother, but by the time he reached him, it was too late. Whoever it was had gone. Dean looked up at him. "Forget the tea, I need some Jack."

Grabbing his brother by the arm, Sam dragged him over to the bar and settled him on a stool. He hurried back around the bar and poured him a shot of whisky. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Dean said, looking down at the glass in his hand. "Just shut up and get back to work."

"Dean, I could see –"

Dean looked up and skewered him with his eyes. "We can talk about it later. Shut up, get back to work and let me get a handle on myself."

Sam could see the logic of that, but it was hard to walk away and go back to making a damned daiquiri. He saw Cas come over and get the same rebuff, and he was pretty sure the angel came to the same conclusion. Forcing Dean to go into an emotional episode in this public environment would not help anyone, and there was no way they could get Dean out of the club till the night was over without tying him up and dragging him out. Since that was not happening, they were stuck with waiting. And Sam knew that Cas would keep a closer than usual eye on Dean for the rest of the evening, which made it possible to bear watching Dean go back up on stage.

He'd recovered himself nicely by that time and went straight into "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Sam hadn't realized that any of the guys could play the fiddle that well. Impressive. That set seemed to be Dean's supernatural set. It included things like "Season of the Witch" and ended with a country song about a ghost inhabiting a '66 Corvette. A decidedly non-ghost-like ghost, though Sam supposed that a ghost who was attached to a car wouldn't necessarily go nuts like one who was attached to a person could. Dean seemed to know a lot more modern music – and a lot more country – than Sam had ever had any idea of. How he managed that while listening to the same five albums over and over was beyond Sam, but it seemed to be working out for this job. He also did several Robert Johnson songs, including "Hellhound on my Trail," which gave Sam the heebie-jeebies. One of the other songs, one Sam had never heard before, was just a little too close to the truth for comfort. It kept talking about black smoke rising, and Sam wondered where it had come from.

After the set, Dean made his way back over to the bar, and this time no one stopped him. Sam kept an eye on his mood while trying to seem completely detached. He knew Dean wouldn't appreciate him hovering. This was proven when Dean said, "Martin's waiting for you to notice him, Sammy. I'm fine. Let me drink my tea in peace."

Sam turned away and took Martin's orders. Martin glanced anxiously over at Dean, and Sam realized that his concern hadn't only been transparent to Dean. Great. He was surrounded by people who seemed to be able to read him like a book. The night passed slowly as Sam waited impatiently for Dean to be able to tell him what had happened during the first break. He whiled away the time wondering how Dean had managed to get Bill and them to let him sing so many of his favorite songs, especially now that George was back. Two Led Zeppelin tunes, "Ramble On" and "Travelin' Riverside Blues." And Sam found it very weird to be surrounded by guys getting off on his brother singing "Ready for Love." One guy at the bar leaned over to his friend and said, "If I had him next to me, I'd be ready, too."

Sam repressed a shudder and kept making drinks. Another break brought Dean over to the bar, and Sam put his tea in front of him. "How you holding up?"

"Fine, Sammy. You?"

Sam shrugged, aware that Dean was trying to change the subject. "I'll survive."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, I was worried." Dean glowered at him and Sam ignored both the jibe and the glare.

When he was done with the tea, he slid off the stool, then stole the cowboy hat off the head of the guy beside him. Sam was ready to jump the bar and protect him when the guy got up and glared, but Dean just smiled that patented smile at the guy and winked. "Can I borrow this for a minute?" he asked with a promise in his eyes that Sam could not believe he meant.

"Sure," the guy said, sinking back onto his stool, looking stunned – and smitten.

Sam shook his head helplessly and watched his brother stride onto the stage and start an extremely brash and borderline crass country song that Sam would guess was called "Yee Haw" from the number of times he sang those words. It certainly thrilled the audience, and the admirer he'd stolen the hat from drifted through the crowd up to the stage. At the end of the song, Dean tossed the hat at him, and the crowd erupted in applause.

He shifted into lower key, more romantic songs that had guys slow dancing with other guys, and with guys that looked like girls, and some of the guys that looked like girls danced with each other. Sam thought of himself as pretty open-minded, but this place was outside his experience. When Dean sang Norah Jones' "Come Away With Me," Sam thought that more than a few of the guys in the audience would gladly have taken him up on the offer.

He ended the night with "Peaceful Easy Feeling" by the Eagles. Sam was just glad the night was over. He'd been run off his feet the whole time, and he was getting desperate to know who the guy was who'd touched Dean on the dance floor earlier – who'd frozen Sam's brother in his tracks.

He set to cleaning the bar up as quickly as possible.

* * *

Dean took his share of the band's tips and wandered over towards where Cas was standing amid the folks still chattering and not really leaving. As he approached, he realized that the man next to Cas was trying his level best to get the angel's attention. In fact, he was doing everything but pulling out his dick and waving it around. Dean walked up and cupped Cas's cheek. "Miss me, honey?" he asked.

Cas turned and looked at him, his eyes startled briefly, but then he went all intent. "I did," he said, and then he bent and planted a kiss on Dean that sent his pulse racing. When Cas pulled away, Dean just stared at him and couldn't think what to do. He racked his brain to remember what he'd seen committed couples do at moments like this, and then he leaned against Cas, trying to conceal his reaction.

The kiss hadn't been bad exactly, just unpracticed, though it was clear that angels were fast learners. It hadn't been pleasure that caused his heart to beat faster. It had been an unreasoning panic that he'd barely managed to control. Unreasoning, because he knew that Cas would never hurt him – in that way especially. The panic . . . seeing that guy earlier in the night was still having an effect on him, and for more reasons than what he could remember.

Dean looked up and saw that Sam had finished with the bar and his own tips, and he took Castiel's hand. "Come on, Cas," he said, and led the way towards the back door and the car. Without a word, he handed Sam the keys and got in on the passenger side. Castiel skipped the doors as always, and Sam settled himself in the driver's seat with the air of someone not prepared to move until he got answers.

Dean shook his head. "Let's talk when we get back to the apartment," he said, trying to buy himself some time. When it became clear that Sam wasn't going to relent, he added, "It's cold." This seemed to persuade his brother. He sighed and reached towards the ignition.

"I could warm the air in the car," Castiel said from the backseat. "As I warmed Dean's bed."

Dean closed his eyes. "Please don't ever say that again," he said. "Particularly not around Jo."

"Yeah," Sam added. Then he cleared his throat. "But do warm the car. I want answers and I want them now."

Abruptly, as if someone had turned on a gigantic space heater, warmth began to exude from the backseat. Within moments, the car was toasty and the windows started fogging up. "Great, now people will think that the three of us are making out in here."

"Dean, what happened in there? Who was that guy, and why did you react so –"

"That . . . was Felix," Dean said. He stared at the condensation on the windshield, so that he wouldn't have to look at Sam or Cas.

"Felix!" Sam exclaimed. "But I thought – the guy Cas killed – wasn't that –"

"Are you certain?" Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. "When I saw the gay basher guy, all I thought was 'gay basher guy.' When I saw him . . . the man from the basement . . . tonight, my mind immediately identified him as Felix." That was what Dean had spent the better part of the evening trying not to think about. Trying not to believe.

"So the witch . . ." Sam's voice trailed off.

"Is still out there," Castiel finished for him.

"It looks like it," Dean said. He shuddered. "He . . . he touched me."

"I saw that," Sam replied.

"You saw us dancing?" Dean asked, startled that Sam hadn't reacted more strongly in that case.

"You danced with him?" Sam exclaimed. "I saw him with his hand on your face, but that's it. By the time I got to you, he was gone."

"Why would you dance with him?" Castiel asked.

"I couldn't . . . I tried . . . he just looked at me." Dean recognized the inadequacy of the explanation, but he didn't have anything better.

Both the others were silent for a moment, then Sam cleared his throat. "We'll get him, Dean. Don't worry."

"Yeah, because our record with witches is so spectacular," Dean replied dourly.

"Dean –"

"That coven nearly killed me, and would have without Ruby, though why she bothered saving me, I don't know."

"Sam was not yet ready," Castiel said. "He needed to go the full year and fail to save you for their purposes."

Dean kind of wished Castiel hadn't explained that. He cleared his throat. "And then there was that whole mess with Samhain. Sure, we didn't know we were being double-teamed, but we should have known better."

"Dean, it's not –"

"And then there's Patrick. We survived that one, but then so did he, and he won."

"He didn't win," Sam protested. "You got your years back, and Bobby was fine."

"And he got away to maim and kill another day," Dean retorted. "And now I've got a witch hot for my body. This is great." He shuddered at the thought of those hands on his ass.

"He _will not_ get you," Sam announced, and he started the engine. Hearing his baby rev up was always good, but this time it seemed like Sam was using it as a talisman of his determination. "For one thing, this is the first time we've had Cas actively helping."

Dean decided not to point out that the angel was kind of low on mojo. It wouldn't help anyone's morale. He slumped in the seat and tried not to think too hard while Sam drove back to the apartment. He wasn't going to have two minutes alone after this. Someone would probably follow him into the bathroom to make sure he didn't get spirited away while he was on the crapper.

He'd tried and tried to deny that immediate reaction. Told himself over and over that it was just Sam's paranoia infecting him, that Felix was the guy who'd died. But over the course of the night, he'd gradually had to accept that he was wrong. His reaction to gay basher guy was all wrong. He'd been irritated by him, alarmed by the ambush, but he hadn't been scared of him. Not really. Felix . . . the basement guy . . . he was terrifying. The sight of him had just frozen him solid, and the power the man had exerted over him . . . .

He scanned his mind around those occasions when they'd identified likely memory lapses, trying to find some occasion when he remembered seeing Felix other than that first incident in the basement. He got strange flashes of sensation and sound, but nothing clear and nothing useful. A snatch of whistled theme song,

A hand touched his shoulder from behind, making him jerk forward automatically. "Dean!" Sam's voice sounded alarmed. "What the hell, man?"

Dean shook his head and looked around. They were outside the apartment. Cas was still in the backseat, he was the one who had touched him, and Sam was staring at him from the driver's seat. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Maybe he was asleep with his eyes open," Sam suggested. "He's done that sometimes."

"He was not asleep, nor was he having a flashback." Castiel sounded certain.

"So I zoned for a minute, what of it?" Dean asked incredulously. He wasn't in any hurry to get out of the warm car, or he would have gotten out and stomped inside. Cas could totally do this heating trick of his more often.

"It wasn't a minute, and I said your name three times before Cas tapped you." Sam was gazing anxiously at him. "What were you doing?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe we'd better go inside so Ellen doesn't get worried and come down here." Steeling himself for the cold, Dean opened the car door and hurried through the snow to get inside. Castiel and Sam came close behind him. Ellen and Jo were sitting together on the couch, Bobby nearby with a beer in his hand. Dean could sense Sam preparing to make some big, dramatic announcement, so he beat him to the punch. "The dead guy wasn't Felix," he said.

Bobby's eyes narrowed, and Jo's jaw dropped. Ellen tilted her head. "You sure?" she asked.

"Yup."

"Well, then, back to looking up witches," Ellen said, and Dean really appreciated her calm approach. She scooted forward to get up, a necessity before rising from that couch.

"Wait," Jo said. "How do you know? Why are you so sure? What happened?"

Dean didn't know which question to answer first, but then he realized that all three questions had the same answer. "We danced tonight," he replied with a shrug, then he dumped his coat on the floor by the door and escaped into the bathroom while Jo clamored for an explanation. He heard Bobby's voice, but he didn't listen.

He stripped off to take a quick shower, and was unsurprised when Sam came in as he pulled the curtain across. "You on babysitting detail?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well, brother-sitting, I guess," Sam said. "You need a spotter till the flashbacks die down a bit."

"I haven't had one today or yesterday," Dean pointed out.

"But you saw _him_ tonight." Sam's tone made the pronoun as good as a name. Felix. "He seems to trigger flashbacks, and I don't want to take any chances."

Dean shrugged and washed off as quickly as possible, deliberately avoiding thinking about all the marks on his body. The marks Felix had put there. Rinsing off rapidly, he yanked the curtain back, reaching out for his towel. Sam let out an exclamation when Dean's impulsive gesture splashed him with water, but Dean ignored his brother's reaction. He scrubbed himself dry and then realized that he'd brought nothing in with him to change into. Sam pointed towards the sink where there was a pair of clean blue jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

"Dean?"

"What?" Dean wiped the mirror dry and started combing his hair.

"You need to tell me what you remember. Everything you remember."

"I don't remember anything," Dean said, but he could tell Sam didn't believe him.

"You've got something coming back," Sam said, coming to stand behind him so that he could see Dean's face in the mirror. "Or you wouldn't be reacting so strongly."

Dean scowled at their reflection. "Fine, okay, something's coming back. You happy?"

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"No!" Dean growled. Sam gave him an exasperated look and he shook his head. "Seriously, Sammy, I can't. It's all too vague, too jumbled. I don't even understand it well enough to tell you what it means."

"But when you saw his face, you knew he was Felix."

"Instantly," Dean said.

"Then why didn't you tell me right away? We could have gone after him, tried to find him."

Dean shook his head. "First, I didn't want to believe it. Second, we need to be way better prepared than we are now to go after this bastard." He left the room before Sam could say anything else to find Bobby waiting right outside.

"You guys danced?" Bobby asked urgently, and Dean nodded. "How did he touch you?"

Dean swallowed uneasily and glanced around at his audience. "Bobby, I –"

"Did he touch your skin, or just your clothes?"

"When I saw him, he hand his hand on Dean's cheek, kind of caressing," Sam said.

Dean turned on his brother. "Dude! You can't just say shit like that."

"Why not?" Sam asked belligerently. "It's the truth, and we need to get this resolved. That bastard needs to stop breathing sooner rather than later."

"That's not the point," Bobby said loudly, as if trying to shut them both up. "What happened, Dean? Did he speak at all, anything that sounded like an incantation?"

"No, he just looked at me."

Bobby grimaced. "He could have put a spell on you a while ago that he activated with that touch, or he could have had something prepared to just drop on you, but I think that would have required some speech. From everything we've learned about him so far, I'm thinking this guy would get a real kick out of pulling something like that in front of Sam and Castiel, and in a public place to boot."

"Charming," Dean said. "Thrilling, even. Any way to detect a spell like that, Bobby?"

"No, Dean, I don't know of any way. Why'd you let the bastard get that close you?"

Dean gulped and shrugged. "Couldn't resist him," he said, and he felt Sam's frustration and fury like it was radiating out from him. "I tried, but he . . . it sounds lame, but he looked at me and I couldn't pull away."

Bobby made an irritated face. "Did anyone get a good look at him?"

"I saw his hand, and that's it," Sam said.

"I was aware of a problem, but could not identify the source," Castiel said.

"Damn." Bobby grimaced.

"Well, after the holiday, we'll have to find some way of detecting any spells that might be on Dean," Ellen said. "Because who the hell knows what they might do."

"It wouldn't even have to be anything big," Jo observed. "Just instructions to go outside at a specific time or whatever. Dean does, we lose track of him, and . . ." Sam and Ellen turned to glare at her, and even Cas gave her a dirty look.

"Let's not borrow trouble," Bobby said.

Dean shrugged. "She's not wrong, in fact he may have done it before."

"Before? When before?"

Dean shrugged again, looking away. "After I visited the cop shop, I sort of lost track of where I was driving and stopped at that diner on a whim, because it seemed familiar."

No one said anything for a long moment, then Ellen shook her head. "Son of a bitch. That could easily be the guy," she said. Dean grimaced unhappily and didn't meet anyone's eyes.

"So you could have a ticking time bomb in you that tells you to shake us and go find Felix," Sam said. Dean nodded.

"He cannot shake me." When Castiel spoke, Dean looked up into the angel's eyes. "And I will not leave him."

"If you get a lead on the big guy, won't you have to?"

"I will not leave you until this situation is dealt with."

Dean nodded. That alone was enough to make him feel safer.


	50. Chapter 50

Thanksgiving dawned sunny and bright. At least Ellen assumed so since by nine when she got up, the sky was clear, and blinding light flashed off the snow outside. Ellen found it all quite beautiful. She went downstairs to get the bread started and found all of the men still asleep, just as she'd left them. All but Cas. He was standing at the windows, looking outside.

"Pretty day," she observed. Castiel turned and raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged. Without thinking very hard about it, she measured out the flour and sugar and milk for the rolls and began mixing. Before long, Castiel was watching her instead of the world outside. He seemed fascinated by the kneading. It was her favorite part of making bread. The physical activity was peaceful and productive.

"Why do you work it with your hands?" he asked quietly.

"It gets everything going right," she said. "Wakes up the yeast so it'll rise." She rolled the whole mass into a ball and put it into a greased bowl, covered it with a damp cloth, then set the bowl on the radiator.

Moving on, she pulled the turkey out of the oven and started filling the cavity with a savory bread stuffing with sage, rosemary and onions, Cas still watching with grave interest. She put it into the oven and then got the giblets out of the fridge to make the gravy. As those smells permeated the loft, three men started stirring. After that, the morning passed in a state of constant controlled confusion. Omelets got made and consumed, the bread dough got punched down and kneaded again for a minute, then she set Jo to making the rolls by sticking three round balls of dough into each cup of the cheap aluminum muffin tins that had been bought just for the occasion. Dean settled down to help her, and then they got set back on the radiator, again covered with damp cloth.

There was a brief fight over whether the TV would be turned to a football game or the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Ellen was mildly surprised that the chief proponent of the parade was Dean. This started another lively debate about Dean's homosexual tendencies with Dean holding out that he knew for a fact that he'd be expected to know key facts about the parade by his co-workers the following evening. That argument, specious though Ellen suspected it was, won the day, but only Bobby really gave a damn about the football game.

Around noon, she put the potatoes on to boil and started getting the veggies ready. She drafted Sam to mash the potatoes once they were soft enough, and he set to with a will. She'd thought he would, he had a lot of aggression to work off. By two o'clock, she had everything ready and on the table, and if their plates and flatware were an oddly mismatched collection, it made little difference. They sat down six for dinner, and it was not a standard family group by any means. A mother and daughter, two brothers, the pairs unrelated to each other, a widower unrelated to any of them and an angel. She cleared her throat as Dean reached for the candied yams. He drew his hand back, looking both reluctant and chastened. She smiled around at them all. "Well, no one here is going to claim not to believe in God, though we all may have varying feelings for the man upstairs."

"He is not upstairs," Castiel said. "It would be much simpler if he were."

Ellen contained a chuckle at the angel's literal mind. "I was referring to his, shall we say, place of employment." Castiel's brows knit, but he made no further objections. "This is a day of Thanksgiving, and I'm just going to say thank you to whatever power made it possible for the six of us to be together on this day." Cas started to say something, but there was a brief, low-voiced interchange between him and Sam that they all politely ignored. "And thank you all for pulling this dinner together. I could have done it without you, but I wouldn't have been happy about it." She grinned. "Amen. Now, Jo, why don't you get us started?"

Jo rolled her eyes like she always did, but she said, "I'm thankful that this only happens once a year." Ellen raised her eyebrows. "Right, Mom. I'm thankful for our year of hunting together."

Ellen reached out squeezed Jo's hand lightly, then turned her attention to Sam, next in the circle. Sam blinked. "You want me to say what I'm thankful for?" he asked, and she raised her eyebrows. He shrugged. "I'm thankful to have the opportunity to make up for what I've done." He turned towards Castiel, and Ellen did, too.

"What?" Castiel asked.

"It's our family tradition to go around the table and for each of us to say what we're thankful for," Ellen said. "What are you thankful for right now, Cas?"

He studied her for a moment, then seemed to consider. "I am thankful for coffee," he said, giving her an enigmatic look that made her smile.

"Cas, I don't think you quite get what this is –" Jo started, but Ellen shook her head.

"He gets it," she said. "Dean, your turn."

Dean had a look like a deer in headlights. "You're not serious," he said.

"Dean, it's not a big deal," Sam said quietly.

Dean glowered at his little brother, and then shrugged. "I'm . . . um . . . thankful that it was Cas who pulled me out of Hell and not one of the dicks." Ellen glanced automatically at Castiel, but the angel didn't seem to react outwardly. Of course, he seldom showed emotion outwardly. Dean seemed to grow even more uncomfortable when no one said anything. He laughed nervously and said, "Just think what a mess we'd be in now if that had happened."

"You mean like Zachariah?" Sam asked.

Dean gave a theatrical shudder. "Bite your tongue."

"Zachariah never got anywhere near Hell," Castiel said, his voice dripping with contempt. "He is not a soldier."

"More like middle management?" Bobby asked.

"If I understand your reference correctly, yes."

Ellen nodded. She turned towards Bobby. "Your turn –"

"Wait," Dean exclaimed. "I'm not done."

After his reluctance in the first place, this was startling. "What else are you thankful for?" she asked.

"Pie," he said, and Ellen noticed a brief flash of disappointment on Sam's face. Poor kid. "Pie is always good."

"Especially when it's my mom's pie," Jo put in, and Ellen smiled at her daughter's loyalty.

"I've never had your mom's pie," Dean said. "So, let's get this over with so we can dig in."

"Okay, Bobby, it's your turn."

Bobby gave her a squint-eyed look. "Can I just go ahead and jump on the pie bandwagon?" he asked.

"Sure," Ellen said. Bobby didn't need to spend a whole lot of time coming up with something he was thankful for at the moment.

"Fine, then I'm thankful for pie." He paused and then shrugged. "And idjits." Before anyone could say anything in response to that, he turned to Ellen. "What about you? Because I don't think being thankful that we all helped out with dinner is good enough."

Jo laughed, and Ellen tried to look irate, but she couldn't sustain it. "All right, then I'm thankful for angels."

Dean didn't even pause, he grabbed the stuffing and started dishing some onto his plate. This appeared to be the cue for everyone else to get started. Ellen enjoyed the meal immensely. Castiel experienced holiday celebration of the human kind for the first time, and that was fun to watch. Watching the boys, she found herself wondering if this was the first time Sam and Dean had experienced a proper Thanksgiving together. Their mother had died before Sam's first Thanksgiving. John hadn't shown up at Elgin until after the holiday, and he'd been a little manic even then. She'd never forget the night he'd had to shoot a shapeshifter in the parking lot of the roadhouse. Dean had heard the Impala drive up, and before she could grab him, he'd run out to meet his father. John had come in carrying his little boy, his face utterly appalled, but whatever he'd said seemed to have satisfied Dean's curiosity adequately. Though solemn, Dean hadn't been freaked out. As soon as John had put him down, he'd gone to check on Sammy, and John had explained. He and Bill took care of things while Ellen and Shelly looked after the three kids and the bar. Things both boys said, cues they missed, like Jo offering the wishbone to Dean and him staring at her blankly. He'd joined in gamely once it had been explained to him, and had suffered the amusement of the others when he lost, but he hadn't really gotten it.

After the meal was over and they were all digesting pie, Castiel said, "Is this feeling that there is more inside me than could possibly fit normal after such a repast?"

Ellen laughed, and Bobby said, "Yeah, that's kind of the point."

Castiel considered this, then said, "I see."

"So, how did you like your first Thanksgiving dinner?" Dean asked.

"It was interesting," Castiel replied. "But it is the first food I have eaten apart from the ice cream you insisted I try."

"Are you joining the pie bandwagon?" Jo asked.

"I believe I may," Castiel said. "What is the rest of the holiday ritual?"

"We veg out in front of the TV, watch the football games and fall asleep while the wimmenfolk wash the dishes," Bobby said with a grin.

"Wimmenfolk?!" Jo exclaimed. "You have got to be –"

"Joking, Jo?" Dean asked. "Pulling your chain? Of course he is." He picked up some dishes. "Sam and I have it."

Ellen gratefully let Sam and Dean handle the dishes, though she wondered how Sam felt about being volunteered like that. Castiel stayed with them, and Ellen sat with Jo and Bobby, ignoring the game that had both of the others shouting from time to time.

* * *

The Friday after Thanksgiving dawned bright and clear. Sam rose ahead of Dean and looked down at his brother. Once Sam had slipped out of his reach, he'd wound up sprawled on his stomach as usual. Someone – probably Dean – had left the heat up really high overnight, and he'd mostly shrugged the blankets off, revealing yellowy-green bruises on his back, arms and neck. They never had applied the liniment, and Sam vowed to do that today, assuming he could get Dean to hold still long enough.

Cas was standing by the window, looking out. He turned and nodded at Sam, but Sam didn't feel inclined towards conversation so he just nodded back. Castiel returned to his silent contemplation of the outdoors.

Sam started breakfast, and as was becoming routine, Ellen and Jo showed up shortly before Dean awoke. Bobby had slept on the sofa, and before Sam could even suggest giving him a hand, he got himself into his chair and disappeared into the bathroom.

Ellen came into the kitchen to help out with breakfast, and Sam glanced sideways at her. "Can either you or Jo draw?" he asked.

"Depends on what you want. Monet I'm not, but I can sketch a likeness with enough information. You thinking of getting Dean to describe this Felix guy to us?"

"I am," Sam said. "That way we all have a way better chance of spotting him."

"You get to convince him."

Sam sighed. "I got it." He went and dished the last of the ice cream in a bowl and walked over to Dean. His brother looked up from the omelet he was finishing up, and his eyes narrowed. Sam cleared his throat. "I was thinking about having some ice cream."

"Is there any more?" Dean asked belligerently.

"Nope, this is it," Sam said.

"Then it's mine," Dean replied.

Sam stuck the spoon into the mound of creamy sweetness. "Doesn't look like that to me," he said.

"Sammy!" Dean said warningly.

Sam pretended to consider for a moment. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll give you the rest of the ice cream if you'll do something for me." Dean didn't respond immediately, just gazing at Sam with narrowed eyes. "What?"

"I'm waiting for your eyes to flash red," Dean said sardonically.

"Right," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "So likely. I promise you, I'm not sealing this deal with a kiss."

"Euew!" Dean exclaimed. "Dude, no guy on guy kissing remarks, okay?"

Sam flushed. He hadn't thought. "Of course not, I didn't mean –"

"I mean, Cas has laid one on me twice now." He shuddered. "Don't even want to think about that."

" _That's_ why you're freaking out?" Sam asked.

"Sure," Dean said. "What else would I be freaking out about?"

"A river in Egypt, evidently," Bobby muttered, and Sam ignored him.

"So, the deal?"

"Fine, Sammy. Give me the ice cream and I'll do whatever it is you want."

"Okay, describe Felix to Ellen so she can draw a picture of him."

Dean's face went blank. "Have the ice cream," he said.

Sam shook his head and sat down across from his brother. "Dean, we need to know what he looks like so we'll recognize him if we see him. For pity's sake, I could have served him a drink for all I know."

"I do not want to think about him that hard," Dean said.

Ellen walked around the table and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "We'll be as quick as we can, but we really do need the information."

Dean closed his eyes. "Put the ice cream in the freezer, Sammy. I'll have it later."

Sam put the bowl in a Ziplock bag and put it back in the freezer. Then he drew Jo aside. Bobby got out of the way on his own, but it was occasionally necessary to remind Jo that she wasn't required for every moment, however much she wanted to help. Cas stayed near the table, but Sam wasn't prepared to try and drag the angel away.

"Do you still think they're not getting it on?" Jo asked in an undertone. "He said they kissed twice."

"Actually, he said that Cas had kissed him," Sam said. "Not quite the same thing." He turned on the TV and sat back to watch.


	51. Chapter 51

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat and concentrated his thoughts on the first time he ever saw Felix. There were no overt emotional overtones to that memory. "He's roughly Sammy's height," he said. "And he looks somewhere between forty and fifty."

"Dean, I need things like his brow line and the shape of his nose," Ellen pointed out.

Dean grimaced and started filling her in. It was difficult. Flashes of words, movement, sensations, a whole medley of unremembered moments kept distracting him. Gradually, an image appeared on the paper of a stocky, good looking man with dark eyes and a smug little grin. Dean stood up and walked into the kitchen to grab a beer when he was satisfied it was right. He didn't want to look at it anymore. He also didn't much want to watch the others looking at it. He didn't like remembering the lure he'd felt, the pull of the man's charisma.

He heard Ellen call the others over and tried to stop his ears. "I served him," Jo said. "I know I did. And I think he left with some kid."

Dean froze, then turned slowly. "He did what?"

Jo bit her lip as if only just realizing the import of her words. "He left with a kid, a guy of about twenty, I'd guess."

Sam shook his head. "But then what does he want with Dean?" he asked.

Dean found himself caught in a memory. A hand on his thigh while he sat on a diner stool. "Mr. November."

Hands on his shoulders pulled him out of the memory. "Dean? Dean, what did you just say?"

He looked up into Sam's worried eyes. "He said he wanted to keep me. I was supposed to be Mr. November, but he'd changed his mind." Dean felt sick. "He's killed another guy."

"We don't know that, Dean," Sam said.

"Dude, it's the 27th of November," Dean growled. "He doesn't have all that many days left if he needs a Mr. November." He shook his head. "We didn't stop him in time."

Sam's hands dropped from his shoulders. "We can't save everyone."

He glowered up at his brother, ready to rip him a new one, but the sight of Sam's eyes stopped him. Sam hated that as much as he did. He took in a deep breath instead and turned away. "So, what now?"

"Well, Jo and I have a body to salt and burn. Ghost's next appearance isn't due till tomorrow, so we figured it would keep till after the holiday."

"You want help?" Sam asked.

Ellen shrugged. "Not really necessary. It's just a garden variety salt and burn. You guys should stay here and see what you can get Dean to remember." Dean started to shake his head, but Ellen held up a finger. "Dean, I know how unpleasant it is, but any memory you dig up could help us find him."

Dean closed his eyes and ground his teeth. "Yeah, I know," he said finally. "Hell, we could just have Cas take a peek."

"Maybe," Ellen said, glancing at the angel. "Regardless, Jo and I need to make sure our gear is ready." She grabbed Jo's arm and they went out.

Dean looked around and realized that darkness was already starting to fall. "Dude, how long did that picture take?"

"We all got up late," Sam said, and Dean gave him a dubious look. Sam shrugged. "And I was kind of surprised you stuck with it as long as you did."

"We all were," Bobby said. "But we didn't dare say anything because we didn't want you to stop. So, anybody else hungry?"

"Starving," Dean said, more than a little surprised by the sudden rumbling in his gut.

"Color me amazed," Bobby said dryly. "Sam, what's for lunch?"

"Turkey sandwiches?" Sam suggested. This meeting general approval, Sam put out the meat, bread and other sandwich fixings and they all settled down to make their own. Jo and Ellen came down shortly and ate. "See you guys later," Ellen said as they went out.

"Be safe!" Dean called. When they'd all finished eating, Dean kind of hoped that no one else would think Ellen's suggestion a good one for how they should spend their evening. Both he and Sam had tonight off, an accident of scheduling that irritated Dean. One look at Bobby's expression told that Dean his was a forlorn hope. He turned to Sam. "Why did Ted say that we weren't working?" he asked.

Sam's eyes widened, and could tell he'd caught him by surprise. Sam really couldn't lie well when he was surprised. "Well, I . . . uh . . ."

"Dude, tell me you didn't call me in sick again!" Dean exclaimed.

"No," Sam said. "You really weren't scheduled for tonight, but I was. I called me in sick."

"Seriously?" Dean demanded.

"I'm not leaving you while that bastard's still gunning for you."

"It's not like I'm alone, Sammy. I've got an angel watching over me." He said it with irony, but it made him sad to think that his mother had always said it, and it had always been true, but it had never meant what she'd thought it had.

"Well, it's too late now. I can't exactly call in well."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. So, Cas, can you peek in my head and tell me what I don't remember?"

"It is not that simple," Castiel said. "And it could make you uncomfortable."

"How is it not that simple?"

"I must look deeper into your subconscious for these memories. They will not be on the surface."

Dean shrugged. "So, besides the fact that I don't want anyone looking in my subconscious, how will that make me uncomfortable?"

"I do not know for certain," Castiel said with a bit of impatience. "I have never done it before. I simply worry that it will cause you discomfort."

"As opposed to being stalked, assaulted and eventually raped by a serial-killing witch?" Dean asked.

"I do not know what that would feel like," Castiel said.

"Just do it!" he growled. "Dork."

"I thought you did not think I was a dick with wings," Castiel said, his brows knitting. Bobby snorted, and Sam's eyebrows went up.

"I didn't call you a dick, I called you a dork."

"The word dork means whale penis. Is that not simply a giant dick?"

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten. They were making fun of him. He was sure of it. "Do you want me to lie down or anything?" he asked after he'd calmed down. He opened his eyes and found that they were all gazing at him with suspiciously blank expressions. Well, not Cas. Cas almost always looked blank.

"Yes, that might be best."

Feeling stupid, Dean walked over and sat down on the bed, kicking his shoes off. He lay back and stared at the ceiling. "Am I supposed to –" He broke off, because he could suddenly sense Cas way closer than he'd ever been before, and that was saying something given the angel's complete failure to grasp the concept of personal space. He started to look to see where Cas actually was, but then he was plunged into an extremely vivid memory of the moment when he'd first seen Felix. Weirdly, it didn't feel like he was experiencing it or like he was remembering it. It was more like television, only in 3-D. If television had ever included the smell of manly cologne, beer and cigarette smoke. Cas proceeded through a fast forward version of the kiss. Dean hadn't really considered that Cas would be privy to his sexual reactions. After that, though, it was like things went blank. He could feel Cas still way too close, he was still unaware of the world around him, but he couldn't access the memories Cas was looking at. It was psychotic. Then he heard his ring tone, and for a moment he thought that Cas was somehow reliving a memory of one of his own phone calls, and he really hoped not because that could be embarrassing. For both of them. Abruptly, the blackness and sense of over-closeness with Cas went away, and he could still hear the ring tone for just a second before Sam picked up.

"Ellen?" Sam said. "What's . . . oh God. No, we're on our way. Right now."

"What is it?" Dean demanded, and glared at Cas when he said exactly the same thing.

Sam hung up. "The ghost that wasn't due to show up until tomorrow is – Ellen thinks it's taken Jo over – which means it's way more powerful than they thought it was."

The thought of something happening to Ellen and Jo was too much for Dean to take just now. He turned to Cas. "Go, we'll get there as soon as we can."

"Dean, I should not –"

"Damn it, Cas, go!"

The angel vanished with the sound of wings, and Dean started dragging on his boots. When he stood up, he got a jacket in the face. "Let's do it," Sam said, and Dean shrugged into his coat.

"Boys?"

They both stopped and turned to face Bobby, and Dean realized how awful this had to feel for him, knowing that friends were in trouble, and he was totally unable to help them. "Yeah, Bobby?"

"Call me, okay?"

"Sure, Bobby," Sam said. "Come on, Dean."

Dean gave Bobby one last look, then followed Sammy down the stairs.

* * *

Sam had the keys in his hand, and he hurried around to the driver's side of the Impala. "Let's –" He stopped and stared across the roof of the car, then ducked to look inside. "Dean? Dean!" He wasn't in sight. Amid the crowd of club goers, he should have stuck out like a sore thumb in his jeans and battered leather jacket. He ran back around the car and looked around. Dean wasn't on the ground, he didn't seem to have gone in the wrong direction. Sam went back inside. No Dean. He ran up the stairs and opened the door to the apartment. Bobby stared at him. "Is Dean in here?" he demanded.

"He just went out with you," Bobby said. "What –"

Sam didn't wait to hear the rest of the question. He ran down the stairs again and hurried down to the basement on the off chance that Dean had gone there. No sign of him. He dialed Dean's cell number, and he heard the phone ringing. He ran back out on the street and tracked the sound down. "Dean?" A young woman was holding the phone, looking at it in surprise. "Excuse me," Sam said. "Where did you get that phone?"

"Some guy gave it to me. Why?"

Sam dug in his pocket and found a photo of Dean. It was a fake ID, so he covered the logos and showed it to her. "Was this the guy?"

She shook her head. "No, but that guy was with him."

"Where did they go?"

She shrugged. "That way, I guess," she said, pointing.

Sam took the phone from her and took off down the street. He'd gone three blocks before he realized that they'd probably gotten into a car, and that he wasn't likely to find them. His phone rang, and he picked it up. "What?"

"Where is Dean?" Castiel demanded.

"I don't know," Sam said, staring at the dark streets. He'd gone past the clubs, and while there were still people making their way down the sidewalks, the lights here were less garish. "He's gone, Cas. How are Ellen and Jo?"

"From the moment I arrived, the difficulties ceased. I attempted to call you, but the cell phone would not work. Are you saying that you have lost Dean?"

"He's . . ." Sam shook his head. "The guy's got him. He's gone."


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I am sorry for the long hiatus. I got a new job and life has been a bit busy what with changing jobs, changing work schedules, changing wardrobes, changing sleep schedules, and, of all things, changing eating schedules. Took a while to start being hungry at noon instead of midnight. LOL. I tell you, genuinely didn't intend this to be quite such a long cliffhanger.

Dean sat handcuffed into the passenger seat of the Civic, horrified by how easily he had been taken. One hand on his shoulder, a whispered word in his ear, and he was gone. He'd walked tamely away, and clearly Felix had thrown some kind of glamour over them both, because he'd heard Sam yelling for him as they'd walked away. Felix had wormed his hand into Dean's jeans pocket and pulled out Dean's phone. The semi-catatonic state the spell had put Dean into didn't allow him to respond in any way, which was the only reason he hadn't taken Felix's hand off at the wrist.

Handing Dean's phone to the nearest hot chick, Felix had taken Dean down the block to where he'd parked the Civic, gotten both of them inside and driven off, all without any interference. With his phone left behind, Dean wasn't sure what they could use to track him.

He wasn't real thrilled that his body was still out of his control, but the worst part for him at the moment was that he still didn't remember anything. He was sitting in this seat in absolute terror of the man who sat beside him, but all he could remember the man actually doing to him was a really intense kiss and a brief stroke of his cheek. He knew some of what had to have happened from the bruises and other marks, but he didn't have any recollection of the events. For some no doubt foolish reason, that bugged him.

A hand touched his cheek, and Dean gulped but couldn't otherwise move. "I would free your limbs, Dean, but I was not able to properly secure you, and I have seen you in action. I think it wiser to keep you constrained until we reach home, and I have you restrained in other ways."

Multiple responses came to mind, but of course Dean wasn't free to speak them. They all basically boiled down to 'bite me,' anyway, and Dean already knew that was in the plans for the rest of his day.

"We are going to have to have a chat before we really get started, though," Felix said. "I don't want to trigger another attack like the one that happened in the motel."

So he knew about the flashbacks, too. Dandy. Bastard.

The rest of the trip passed in silence, but Felix drove an automatic. That left one hand free for touchy feely fun. For the most part he confined himself to parts of Dean that were already uncovered, but Dean knew that couldn't last. They were out in the suburbs now. Ritzy suburbs. Two car garages, fancy lawn statues, overdone Christmas displays, the whole nine yards. Felix pushed a button on his dashboard as he pulled into a driveway, and Dean looked with interest at the front lawn. At least he didn't have any kitschy garden gnomes or glow-in-the-dark Santas or anything like that. He had some taste.

The garage door opened as they approached, then closed behind them. "There, that's better," Felix said. He reached down and unlocked the handcuff on Dean's right hand, then got out of the car. Dean sat in silence, with a stillness that would have freaked his brother out. Sammy was always bitching that Dean was practically ADD.

The door beside him opened, and Felix said, "Get out and follow me."

Without any conscious will, Dean slid sideways and got out of the car. Felix pushed the door shut and led the way up a short flight of steps into what was clearly the kitchen. From there they went straight down another, much longer flight of stairs into a basement. Dean began to have serious misgivings about the direction this seemed to be heading. An interest in porn could occasionally lead him in directions he didn't much like, and he knew a little more about sex dungeons than he'd ever wanted to and that was what he was halfway expecting.

At the bottom of the stairs there was a cupboard and two doors leading to the right and left. Felix opened the one to the left and walked through. Dean followed him and stopped when told to. Without turning his head, he found it difficult to tell the exact dimensions, but the space stretched away to his right. To his left was another door, olive green and slightly shiny. From what little he could see, he was currently in some kind of utility room. The furnace filled a large part of the space, and beyond it Dean could see the washer and dryer. Here he was with a God only knew how old witch, and he was looking at something as mundane as a washer and dryer.

"Hold still," Felix said, and then he started pulling Dean's coat off over his shoulders. Dean struggled with himself, he fought to resist the other man's actions, but it was like whatever that spell was literally cut the connection between his brain and his muscles. Piece by piece, Felix stripped Dean naked, and Dean found himself wondering if every encounter they'd had was like this, him remembering nothing, Felix remembering all.

When he was bare, Dean could feel goose bumps and shrinkage from the chill. He couldn't even grind his teeth or clench his fists. All he could do was stare at the wall opposite him. There was a window at the top of the wall, but it was completely covered. Dean heard keys jingling, and then the green door opened outward. Felix took his arms from behind him and guided him into the room.

Lights came on as Dean passed through the door, and he gulped at what lay beyond. The room was split into two parts, separated by a wall of dark metal bars, like a stylized prison cell. A hinged door stood wide, opening into the outer room. There would be no way to block either this door or the green door closed from inside.

The first section of the room was about fifteen feet square, the second was perhaps ten feet deep and equally wide. Dean suspected that the rear portion of the room lay beneath the garage because its ceiling was a good foot and a half lower, maybe seven feet high. The walls of both sections of the room were painted brown with the ceiling a creamy white. Cabinets of olive green lacquered wood lined the outer wall as far as the barred partition, apart from two windows up by the ceiling. Those windows, like the one Dean had seen in the utility room, were shuttered tightly.

To Dean's right stood a huge bed with four thick posts of warm brown wood, its head against the door wall. The posts were taller than Dean, and there were joists joining the posts together about three inches above Dean's head. Felix didn't linger in the outer room, but walked Dean straight to the door in the bars. Stopping him directly inside the opening, he then swung the door shut and spoke the single word that released Dean's body to his own control.

He whirled immediately and glowered at Felix. "This is a bad fucking idea," he said.

"So I've already been told," Felix replied with a shrug and a calm smile.

"You've been told?" Dean asked, blinking. "By me?"

"Actually, by a black vampire," Felix said. "A dead black vampire hunter," he added, an odd bemusement coming over his expression. "I didn't realize that vampires could be spirits, but apparently they can."

Dean blinked at him. "You spoke to Gordon?" he asked, his eyebrows going up. "Oh that's just frickin' fabulous. You do know that Gordon's psychotic?"

"He had good things to say about you," Felix said. "I don't think he liked your brother much, though." Dean growled. He couldn't help it. "And I take it you didn't like him."

Dean smiled grimly. "Sammy killed him by garroting him with razor wire. See, I've got people who _will_ be coming after me."

"Assuming, always, that they can find you." Felix gestured around at the room. "This space is shielded against all forms of scrying."

Like that would matter, Dean thought unhappily. He, himself, was shielded against angel scrying, which was probably the only kind Felix couldn't shield against. "Trust me, Sammy will find you," he said anyway.

"I'm surprised at you," Felix said. "I'd think you'd be trusting to your witch-friend to search you out."

Dean's brows knit. "What witch – I mean which witch –" He broke off his babbling. "Who?" he demanded finally.

"Cas," Felix said, and he appeared puzzled by Dean's reaction.

Dean snorted. "Dude, you are so far wrong there that it's almost funny."

Felix shrugged. "I'm going to go freshen up, and then we'll have our conversation." He turned towards the door.

Dean shook his head. "You'd be better off to let me go."

Felix turned, his hand on the door handle. "I will never let you go, Dean," he said, an acquisitive gleam in his eye. "I can keep you alive indefinitely, and I plan to."

"Then you're going to die," Dean said with a shrug.

"They can try," Felix said, and he shut the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Dean immediately started trying to find a way out.

* * *

Sam ran his fingers into his hair and made fists, striving not to let his frustration get the better of him. Castiel stood in the corner of the room, his eyes closed, his mind focused internally. Bobby had a map of the area on the floor and was doing one of his scrying spells and was, so far as Sam could tell, getting nowhere. He, meanwhile, had absolutely nothing to go on. No one remembered seeing Dean or Felix get into a car, and though he'd found the chick he'd gotten the phone from inside LOL, she could only tell him that the sketch looked a lot like the guy who'd given her the phone, and could he please leave her alone.

The door opened to admit Ellen and Jo, both looking the worse for wear. Ellen had scratches on her face, and Jo's eyes were red as if she'd been weeping. "We find him yet?" Ellen demanded.

"No sign," Sam said, shaking his head. "And without guidance, all we can really do is drive around randomly and hope we spot him on the street."

"What's he doing?" Jo asked, pointing at Cas.

"He'd started looking at Dean's memories when we got your call," Sam replied. "He's searching through what he found to see if he can find any leads, but he hasn't said anything for like ten minutes."

"It has been made more challenging by the interruption," Castiel said without opening his eyes. "The witch could not have planned that, but the call scrambled my thoughts. Silence would be more beneficial to regathering them than chatter."

Sam nodded anxiously, and both Ellen and Jo looked quietly furious. They clearly didn't like being used as a distraction to enable the witch to capture Dean. Jo grabbed her mother's arm and took her in the bathroom to treat the scratches and Sam returned to his fruitless pacing.

* * *

Having explored his prison, Dean sat down on the twin bed he'd been provided for sleeping on. The room was very warm, which was a good thing because there wasn't a cover or a piece of clothing in sight. He had a bed, a toilet, a sink and an entertainment center built into the area under the stairs. The stuff was all behind plexiglas. He might be able to scratch it, but never break it. There was a remote built into the frame of the bed. The bed itself was solidly attached to the wall, and there was no way Dean was detaching any part of it without a lot of effort and maybe some lost blood. As if the bars weren't a big enough hint, the furnishings made it clear that this had been planned as a prison.

This part of the room had no windows at all, and Dean figured it was actually entirely below ground. The windows beyond the bars were probably sunken as basement windows so often were, and the ceiling of this part of the room was roughly even with the sills of those windows.

The door opened, and Felix walked in wearing a dark brown bathrobe. He walked over to the bars and stopped. Dean refused even to try to cover himself. It was kind of pointless, for one thing, and for another, it would reveal his awareness of the power Felix had over him. He just waited for Felix to speak.

"Mancipium," Felix said, and Dean blinked as memories began to cascade back. They came back in no particular order. Though he knew it was unwise to show any kind of response, Dean rose and turned his back on Felix to let his reactions occur in relative privacy. The knowledge that the last incident had actually taken place at the club with Sam and Cas both upstairs actually made things that much worse.

Dean absorbed the information and stood there for a moment longer, still facing away.

"What instigated your extreme distress in the motel?" Felix asked, and Dean closed his eyes. Talking about flashbacks triggered flashbacks, but he now remembered the actual event that had stimulated that first long one. "I don't wish to cause another reaction like that."

Dean turned around, giving Felix a sardonic look. "Then I guess you better let me go," he said. "Because I never had flashbacks like that before you."

Felix shook his head. "With trauma so severe, I don't believe that for a moment."

"Believe it," Dean snapped. "I had little tiny flashes, no more than a couple seconds, and not even one of those for a while. Current theory is it has something to do with the way you've been fucking around with my memories."

"I suppose that's possible," Felix said thoughtfully. "Regardless, a specific action on my part caused you to react so strongly. I need you to tell me what that was."

Dean gave a curt headshake because he didn't trust himself to speak. The question sent his mind immediately to that moment in the motel room, his arms and legs bound to inflexible bars, his body held taut between them. He could feel a flashback ready to start, and he didn't want to be that out of control in this situation.

"Come now, Dean, it's in your best interests to help me prevent such incidents."

"I'm really not sure you can," Dean gritted out. He could feel his hands shaking. He remembered reasoned discussions with Alastair. Long, carefully laid out conversations, in which his answers were scripted but never given to him until he got it wrong.

"It's quite simple, just –"

Dean lost the now abruptly.

_A flash of pain across his abdomen, then Alastair spoke. "It's quite simple, Dean, I ask you a question and you answer it."_


End file.
